Have You Ever Heard A Wolf Howl?
by silvergryphon06
Summary: When you're on the run, its incredibly difficult to find any kind of time to one's self. Fem!Hawke/Fenris Rated M for later chapters. Permanent Hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Three months.

It had been three months since they had fled Kirkwall, leaving a trail of blood and fear behind them. As they passed through the Free Marches, the deeds of the Champion followed in hushed whispers, tumbling from people's lips in praise and in terror. She had saved the Circle, but at what cost? Mages across Thedas were rising up in defiance of the Templars, finally breaking the chains that had bound them for so long. Fenris had not been thrilled to be a part of that, but he had done it for her.

Three months.

Three months since she had walked into his mansion and his arms. It wasn't perfect and it never would be, but she was his. Fenris smirked as he watched Hawke take aim, her body relaxed. He found his eyes wandering over her, coming to rest on her chest which was rising and falling evenly with her breathing. His hands busied themselves with sharpening his great sword while he perched on a nearby boulder, but in his mind's eye he saw them skimming across her hip to pull her back and against him. Maker help him, she wasn't even doing anything and she was a distraction.

They had set up camp in a quiet part of a forest near Starkhaven. They never stayed in one place long, but they had been here for nearly a week now. Hawke's fame had reached legendary status, thanks in no small part to Varric's constant embellishment.

_Twang!_

The arrow was loosed and thudded dead center of the target Isabela had painted for her. Hawke rolled her shoulders and stretched, her fencer's shirt rising, the fair skin of her stomach peeking out briefly to taunt him. A sharp pain shot through his palm and he cursed in Tevinter. Served him right for not paying attention to what he was doing. The small nick stung a little, but it would be a good reminder to keep his mind trained on the task at hand, no matter how invitingly her hips swayed as she moved to retrieve her arrow. The elf tore his gaze from the marvelously shaped hindquarters to his hand, wiping away the line of blood that had formed.

He didn't notice her approach until she took his hand in her slightly smaller one, inspecting the scratch. He scowled at her amused grin.

"It's nothing," he grumbled.

"So I see."

He snatched his hand back in mock anger and her grin widened before fading entirely as she turned her head. Hawke's eyes shifted from merriment to distant almost instantly, reminding him of the mercurial substance they resembled. Lately, her moods shifted quicker than Merrill's attention. Concerned, he brought his clean hand up to cup her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"What's going on in that hard head of yours, Hawke?"

Her eyes slid away from his and he stood abruptly, suspicion and worry whirling through his mind so quickly that it was dizzying. He searched her face, hunting for an answer to what exactly was bothering her. Was it guilt? What did she have to be guilty about? Their relationship was fragile at best and Fenris knew he had not helped to strengthen it. Doubting her now was not a step in the right direction, so he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax a little. He pulled her into a tight hug and her stiff body slowly eased in his arms.

"When you're ready to tell me, I'll be here," he whispered against her curly hair.

She didn't reply, just slipped her arms around his waist and buried her face in the crook of his neck for a few moments. Sighing, she stepped back and he let her go. She forced a grin.

"Careful, you might ruin your reputation for broodiness, stoicism and insensitivity," she teased.

He felt his lips curve up in a small smile, a devilish gleam in his eye.

"Only if you tell on me, Hawke, only if you tell."

"Is that a challenge, Serah?" she queried. "You would be at a disadvantage."

"And exactly how did you come to that conclusion?" he shot back as she stepped close again.

She leaned into him, hands gliding lightly up his chest to wrap around his neck. Her body seemed to melt against his and he found that he was gripping her hips. Hawke bent his head toward hers, parting her lips in a silent invitation and Fenris fought back a groan. This woman did not know how to play fair. Her lips barely brushed his - once, twice - before sweetly skating along his jaw, playfully. He did groan then, his eyes drifting shift as her tongue gently traced the shell of his ear.

"That's why," he heard her whisper huskily before pulling out of his arms and walking into the trees to find the others, leaving him unsatisfied, but knowing she would finish their little game later.

* * *

A few days afterward, Hawke was leaning against one of the giant trees, her arms crossed loosely under her breasts, far too deep in her own thoughts to do her any good. For months, she had been spinning in her mind just how to tell Fenris her secret , but hadn't come up with any easy way to tell him. She sighed, running a hand roughly through her messy mane. She was just going to have to do what she always did; take a deep breath, aim, and fire. It just wasn't going to be as simple as that. Frustrated to the point of tears, she whirled and stomped back to camp, uneasy, but determined. He had to know and it was better coming from her. Not that anyone other than Anders knew, and he had discovered it purely by accident. Hawke winced, knowing revealing that the mage knew before Fenris did was going to cause a serious row, but she wasn't the kind of person to hide things to begin with. She had just walked into the glow of the campfire and was greeted with quite the awkward sight.

Isabela had herself tangled around Varric, the dwarf's usually unruffled features flushed. Both of them had bright mischief dancing in their eyes. Anders and Sebastian were just staring at them, gaping, while the elves were nowhere to be seen. Hawke cocked a hip and an eyebrow.

"I was wondering when you two were going to get around to that. I was just hoping it wouldn't it be in public." Her voice was thick with checked mirth.

Varric jumped when she spoke and attempted to stand, but instead ended up simply falling over with Isabela under him, shrieking. They were all flailing limbs and rolling bodies, neither quite sober enough to manage disentanglement on their own. Anders tried to pull Varric up, but Isabela's flying foot caught him behind the knee and sent him tumbling forward. The air squashed out of the poor dwarf. Hawke grinned, laughter spilling from her lips uncontrollably as her friends kept trying to get up and failing.

Finally, Sebastian simply grabbed Anders and Varric each by the scruff of their collars and yanked them up, his tall frame able to lift them clear of the incapacitated pirate. Fenris chose this moment to enter the camp with Merrill, a fat buck slung across his shoulders. He looked at his lover questioningly, but she was laughing too hard to answer him. His lips twitched in response to her amusement, but Merrill stood, confused. It took a while to explain what had happened in their absence.

After everyone else had gone to sleep, Hawke took Fenris by the hand and led him away from the camp into the trees. Hawke wished she could see his face clearly in the darkness, but the deep shadows of the woods kept it obscured. As soon as the softness of the firelight was out of sight, she pushed him against a tree and crushed her lips to his. He grunted in surprise, and then growled as she ran her tongue sensually against his bottom lip before giving it a nip. They broke apart for air. Her hands slid up his armored chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him down for another powerful kiss. But her secret nagged at the back of her mind insistently. Hawke pulled back, both of them breathing hard, whispering his name when he tried to follow her lips.

"Fenris."

The tone of her voice pierced through the fog of passion that had begun to cloud his thoughts. Relenting, he let his head fall back against the tree, trying to control his raging body. It still staggered him just how little she had to do to make him positively ache for her. However, he didn't try to stop his gauntleted fingertips from gliding lightly along her spine; an action he knew drove her crazy. She shuddered and arched into him slightly, her lips parting as she groaned. The tempting sight was too much for the elf and he dragged those sinful fingers up, tangling one hand in her hair to tip her head back and slanted his mouth against hers. She kissed him back; she couldn't help it.

One kiss led to another, and another, and then he was skimming his so very dangerous lips along the skin of her neck. Hawke's fingernails scraped lightly along his scalp and he bit her throat gently in retaliation. His slid his palm around her waist, ghosting up her ribcage to cup her breast gently. Hawke made a mewling sound against his lips. He could feel her body softening as his own hardened. He carefully flicked his thumb over her nipple, his nethers tight and throbbing when she moaned again. With an almost inaudible growl, Fenris turned them swiftly, reaching down a long arm to hook her leg around his waist as he kissed her feverishly. He thrust his hips against her damp heat, the sweet friction sending a shock wave of lust through his body. Maker, if it felt this incredible with their clothes on-

"Hawke!"

Anders' voice tore through the forest, making Hawke wince. Both of them were breathing heavily.

"Tell me exactly why you didn't kill him," Fenris snarled through clenched teeth, his markings glowing blue briefly in irritation.

"I can't remember at this point, but you are welcome to remedy it," she bit back as she leaned her forehead against his chest to steady herself, and then allowed him to pull away as the mage yelled again.

"Come on, before he shits a fireball looking for me," she ground out.


	2. Chapter 2

The road ahead of them looked like a brown ribbon, at least what Hawke could see through the torrent of water pouring from the sky. It seemed like the Maker was bent on making their journey as difficult as possible. She pulled her deep blue cloak around her body tighter and resumed sloshing through the mire of mud. Varric seemed to be having the most trouble, his shorter legs working twice as hard to make half the progress his taller companions did. Even so, he never complained, content to irritate the closest person to him, who happened to be the moodiest elf on the face of Thedas. She had assigned them rearguard and Fenris hadn't stopped sending her dirty looks. Isabela and Sebastian were point, while Merrill and Anders walked in the center with Bethany and their mabari. Someone had to be looking out for that apostate, because Hawke had been certain Fenris was going to rip his heart out when they had returned to the camp.

That had been a fortnight ago and Anders had kept his silence, which surprised her. What was his angle? They had been friends for years, but that still hadn't stopped him from murdering innocents to accomplish his goals. Was it a way to insure that she kept him with the group? She would have done that anyway, he had to know that. Even as he had sat in front of her, unable to look her in the eyes with the blood that still stained his hands, she hadn't once been tempted to kill him. Hawke had asked for his help and he was admittedly instrumental in bringing down Knight-Commander Meredith. Suspicions and doubts tugged at her mind, but she shook them away. Since the night they had fled Kirkwall, Anders had proven himself useful and loyal, if somewhat misguided.

Speak of the darkspawn.

"You really shouldn't push yourself this hard, you know," he said, speaking quietly as he caught up to her at the head of their little procession.

"I'm fine, Anders."

"Right now, yes, but I can see that you're exhausted. You have more than yourself to think about, Hawke," he said, glancing back at Fenris. She didn't follow his gaze, her eyes firmly fixed on the ground in front of her. It was annoying enough trying to work one's way through this muck without distractions.

"Anders, we've been on the move for over a month now, running from Templars, bandits, darkspawn, and Andraste knows what else. How exactly am I supposed to think of myself at all?"

The mage winced at the harshness of her tone and she sighed, patting his arm.

"I appreciate the concern, my friend, but this isn't the best time to think about it. We have to keep moving for a while longer, at least until things die down a bit."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she quickened her pace and he took the hint. At least that had seemed genuine. They kept walking for the rest of that morning and about mid-afternoon, Hawke signaled for them to stop. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she scanned the endless stretch of woodlands. She saw movement ahead. The pirate and the prince came trotting into view, the looks on their faces tense.

Shrugging a shoulder, she pulled her bow free of its harness across her back, an arrow to the string already. She nodded at her friends when they got close.

"What's up ahead?"

Sebastian shook his head, blue eyes hard.

"Probably twenty bandits waiting in the trees, maybe two miles in front of us. We can avoid them, but they'll only cut the next group of travelers to pieces."

The others had clustered behind their leader. Hawke turned to them, her head tilted slightly to the left.

"Well?"

"The odds aren't exactly in our favor, but Bianca has been mighty antsy the last few miles. I think a little exercise will do her some good," Varric drawled, patting the butt of his crossbow fondly.

"T'is better to make the road safer for others," Bethany agreed quietly.

Hawke looked at Fenris for affirmation.

"I agree with your sister. They could be slavers" he said, reaching back to grip the hilt of his sword.

Hawke nodded and asked Isabela over her shoulder, "Could you see if they had any mages?"

"Most of them were pretty well armed, but there was a swarthy looking fellow with a rather large stick," she replied with a chuckle.

Hawke nodded again and breathed deeply through her nose.

"Alright then," she said with a grim smile, "let's not keep out hosts waiting. Fenris, you and Isabela charge on my cue. The rest of us can take them out at range."

She indicated Sebastian to lead the way. He had been right; it wasn't that far up the path before they could hear the bawdy laughter of a large group of men. Hawke signaled the mages to outflank the bandits to her left. Like ghosts, Merrill and the other two melted into the shadows of the trees. Anders touched her shoulder gently as he walked past her, a soft warning to be careful. She smiled to reassure him, but his concerned frown remained. When she was sure they were in place, she and the other two archers walked forward. She tugged at Sebastian's sleeve after a couple steps and pointed up. He followed her finger then looked back at her with a grin.

Quickly and quietly, they each began to climb a tree while Varric kept walking with Fenris and Isabela as they went right. Hawke grabbed a branch and pulled herself up, swinging her legs forward to gain momentum. After a minute, she could see their target. Sebastian was right; about thirty, thirty-five men were scattered in little groups across the road. She sized them up quickly; cocky in their numbers, not very organized, and the leader was obviously the robed man the furthest from her. Glancing to her left, she could see Sebastian perched in the next tree and she motioned to the mage down below. He nodded and drew his bow as she drew hers. With practiced ease, she pulled an arrow out of her quiver, lit a fuse that was tied to the tip, and aimed, her breathing perfectly controlled. She counted down in her head; three, two, one…

_Twang!_

She fired, smoke discharging from the bolt at the feet of one of the bandits and causing an immediate eruption of movement, just as Sebastian fired his own arrow, which slammed through the eye of the enemy mage, causing him to crumble. She twisted her hand in the air and whistled two sharp notes, sending Fen and Isabela exploding out of the underbrush, blades gleaming dully under the overcast sky. Frost crept over the muddy pools of water on the road as Bethany sent a frostbolt streaking towards a distracted group of bandits. Hawke hopped backwards after loosing a few more shots, catching the branch she had vacated and swinging her body forward, her boots skidding in the slick mud as she landed. Her arms a whirlwind, she fought for balance. Gaining it right as the closest man made an awkward chop to her midsection, she spun on the ball of her foot, using the terrain to her advantage. She drew her dagger from her lower back as she pivoted, dodging a crude upper thrust. She twirled the blade expertly, then sunk it into her opponent's stomach; twisted; then jerked it up and out, blood spraying her. There wasn't enough time to check if the man was dead. Hawke simply whirled around, trying to get a sense of the battle around her. Lightning crackled out of the corner of her eye and she ducked, the sizzling ball singing the tips of her hair before erupting around its unfortunate target.

"Sorry!" she heard Merrill yell and shook her head; so much for legendary elven accuracy.

She spotted Fenris when she looked up again, his sword locked with the wicked looking axe of a snarling dwarf. She stood straight, bow drawn, and the elf shifted his weight, changing stance and pushing the stocky man back. Hawke fired, her aim true, and her mark crumpled to the ground, the shaft sticking out of his throat. Her lover glared at her, but she simply saluted and took off, sprinting to find a better vantage point. Varric was to her right, firing bolt after bolt into the fray. Isabela had her daggers spinning viciously as two tall, dark-skinned bandits advanced on her, leering.

The Champion fired with Varric, making Isabela pout in disappointment. Hawke grinned at her and the beautiful pirate started to say something, but the words died on her lips. Shades came rushing through the trees, renting the air with their blackened claws.

"Shit!" Hawke cursed.

The bastard must have had a summoning spell prepared in case of something like this. She didn't have the chance to figure out whom or what had triggered the enchantment, as the purplish monsters were closing around them.

"Sharp and pointy would be great about now, Hawke!"

"I know,Varric, I know!" she shot back, dropping her bow to throw two knives in rapid succession, both shades bursting into dust as they connected with the steel.

She pulled out her long knife from her boot, slashing through a third one, the stench of sulfur and death clogging her nostrils. She fought not to gag and turned to look for another creature, but there was nothing. Anders and Bethany stood back to back, flames licking along their arms, piles of purple ash littering the ground at their feet. The younger Hawke smiled brightly at her sibling. Maker preserve us, the woman could be absolutely terrifying when she wanted to be.

"I think that was the last of them," Anders remarked, straightening.

"If not, they're running for the sea now," Isabela replied, sheathing her daggers with a flourish.

"Indeed. Loot the bodies, take what we can carry. Leave the carcasses for the beasts."

It was done as she ordered, the rain lessening just as she recovered the last of her arrows. There wasn't much to take. The nearby camp looked fairly recent; perhaps the bandits hadn't been at this part of the road very long? Or maybe they were not that lucky in their endeavors? The latter seemed more likely, considering the outcome of their encounter. Tired, bloody, and riding out the remnants of adrenaline, the small band only walked for a few more hours before Hawke directed them to set up camp near a stream. Her friends were only too grateful to stop for the night.

Hawke rummaged through her pack for her spare tunic and small clothes. She found them buried at the very bottom. Muttering under her breath about monsters that lived in her pack, she told her sister where she was going, and then picked a path towards the water. Carelessly tossing her clothes aside on the bank, she stepped into the frigid water, shivering, gooseflesh rippling across her skin. She wanted to make this as painless as possible, so she ducked her body under the water, almost throwing herself immediately back to the surface. She didn't hear him approach, concentrating on scrubbing the blood and grime from her flesh. Suddenly, warm hands slid around her hips to stroke her belly intimately.

She jumped, reflexes kicking in. Her fist started to come around, but a strong hand grabbed hers, stopping her in mid swing and pinning her arms to her sides. His deep chuckle gave him away and she stopped struggling. Her arms were freed and she swatted at him with her other hand.

"That was cruel, Fenris," she said to the elf standing behind her.

"Doubtless, but you shouldn't be wandering in the woods alone and so…vulnerable."

This time her shiver had nothing to do with the cold. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, mildly disappointed that his armor was still on. Fenris wrapped his arms around her waist, fingertips skimming the skin of her torso and her ribcage as he placed a gentle kiss just below her ear. Hawke moaned softly when his hands slid back down her body, caressing her thighs. Her head lolled to the side and his lips glided along the line of her neck. She pressed her buttocks back against him, loving the deep sound he made when his arousal was pressed against her body. She rolled her hips against his hardness and he gripped her hips possessively. Hawke turned her head and their lips met, sending a wave of heat through her and she wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him closer.

While one hand traced playful circles on her hip, the other moved to her breast, his thumb rolling her nipple and she arched, breaking the kiss with her gasp. He covered her mouth again with a growl, his tongue darting past her parted lips to brush boldly against her. The palm at her hip began to knead the flesh there and she started to move her body against him rhythmically, tugging at his lower lip with her teeth. Maker, this was too much, she was going to explode-

"Hawke! Did you drown?"

There was rustling in the woods behind them and Fenris bent his head to her shoulder, groaning in frustration. He placed a quick kiss against the skin there and then disappeared into the trees. Hawke growled as she stomped back to her clothes,

"So help me, Andraste, I will turn that dwarf into my personal pincushion."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Many thanks to my amazing Beta, JacksAreWild! :D**_

* * *

_She was running through the trees, her feet barely touching the leaves that made a sodden carpet on the forest floor. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage as sweat stung her eyes; not that she could see anything in the pitch black to begin with. Branches seemed to snake out and claw at her face and hair, tugging her painfully backwards. She tried to dodge their grasp but it was like she was running through a thick soup She could see sparks of red flash in the murk, cold laughter ringing in her ears, crawling across her skin like a serpent. Snatches of a song kept floating past in a breeze she didn't feel. Her legs pumped, the darkness seeming to come to life around her. Tendrils of shadow clamped around her nose and mouth, she couldn't even draw a breath to scream-_

Hawke sat bolt upright, eyes darting like a cornered animal. The fire had almost gone out; softly glowing embers barely pierced the heavy darkness. Still breathing hard, Hawke wiped the sweat from her face with a trembling hand. The dreams were getting worse. It felt like the blackness had snaked into her veins, her heart pushing it dully through her system. Knowing that she wasn't going to get anymore sleep, she threw her blanket back and bent over the campfire, stirring new life into the flames. She could feel an empathy with it; her body felt weakened, weary. What had once flared so brightly inside of her was fading, little pieces seeming to break off, left in the mud to wither and die. Hawke sat on the hard ground, poking at the ashes idly, chin in hand. Maybe this is what the taint feels like.

"Yes and no." Anders' voice spoke softly next to her ear, startling her. She whirled around to look at him, her face flushed with embarrassment. Why did she have to find all the sneaky people in Kirkwall?

"I didn't realize I was talking out loud," she muttered with a sheepish grin.

"I heard you thrashing around. Are the nightmares getting worse?" he asked as he sat down next to her.

She shook her head.

"Not worse, but they are getting more vivid. This time I really felt like it was going to strangle me. Maybe one day it will." She gave a short bark of laughter, sharp and biting in her own ears.

He nodded, concern making the lines in his face deepen. His amber eyes stared at her hard for a while before he spoke again.

"You really should tell Fenris. It isn't fair to him that-"

"That what?" she hissed, cutting him off. "That I'm dying of something that no one can see or fight? That Meredith's lyrium magic tainted my body so completely when that blasted sword sliced through my gut that my life span has been shortened to ten more years at the most? That he shouldn't worry or even be around me anymore because I won't be there for him in the long run? That I'm being entirely selfish by keeping him out of this, but in my life? What exactly am I supposed to say, Anders?"

Her face was inches from his, eyes narrowed dangerously and full of so much pain that his heart ached for her. He didn't know what to say to make her feel any better, so he said what was true.

"We have that in common, you know."

She jerked back like he had slapped her. He watched her eyes close as she took a deep, shuddering breath, then she turned her attention to the campfire, throwing more branches on the pile as the flames sizzled and popped in apparent delight.

"I know," she replied finally, "and I am sorry that it has to be this...this mutual corruption... that binds me to you."

"I have never minded looking after you," he protested, daring to reach out a hand to clasp her shoulder. She leaned her face against the back of his fingers for a moment, her cheek soft and warm. He tried not to miss that feeling when she lifted her head again.

"You have always taken good care of me," she whispered, "but no one can save me from this. Not you, not Fenris, not even the Maker. We were lucky that I was the only casualty."

"Stop talking about yourself like you're some sacrifice to be made for the greater good."

His hand tightened on her shoulder, but she didn't seem to notice. She glanced at him, one side of her mouth quirked upward wryly.

"Why? Isn't that the way you've been going on for years?"

Anders glared at his friend.

"I'm different. I have a spirit of Justice living in me and a lot more blood is on my conscience. If anyone here deserves to die, it's me."

"And who are you to make that call, Anders? Who are you that you made that call for the Grand Cleric? The Maker may have left, but did He put you in charge when no one was looking?" she asked harshly, making him flinch. When he removed his hand, she realized what she had sounded like and she hung her head, hair coming to cover her face from view.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't take my frustration out on you."

"Don't apologize for being honest," he said with a weak smile. "You don't really owe me even that courtesy."

Hawke was silent, as was he, until it was time to wake Merrill for her turn at watch. The chatty elf immediately sat close to Hawke, bubbling and bobbing like a sparrow, which made the tired woman smile thinly. They talked quietly until the sun's rosy fingers splayed across the clouds. As Merrill roused the others, their leader pulled out their breakfast of the last of the venison they had salted and dried, along with a loaf of stale bread. She could tell it was going to be a long day already.

* * *

For the next few days, they marched through the woods with little incident. Coming to edge of the woods, they looked down a sloping plain to see a tiny village, smoke gently wafting and curling in the spring breeze. Sending a silent thank you upwards, she motioned for them to approach with caution. There was never any certainty about what was lying in wait. It was one of the very few things Hawke was prudent about; a terrible habit she had picked up from Fenris. Luckily, the small hamlet had an inn, with several rooms available for rent, as well as a donkey they were willing to sell for six sovereigns. The pitiful animal was hardly worth fifty silvers, but Hawke doubted the people here got much in the way of coin, or travelers willing to spend it, so she gladly parted with it. The supplies Isabela and Bethany picked up weren't cheap either, and the pirate was grousing under her breath about priggish thieves when they returned.

They shared their first hot meal in weeks, but Hawke excused herself right after, claiming that she wished to inspect their new pack animal one last time. No one called her bluff, content to let her brood in peace. She felt Fenris' smoldering gaze at her back as she moved from the bench, emerald eyes following her out the door, a blanket tucked beneath her arm. She was sleeping in the barn out back anyway. The others could use a real bed to sleep in for a change and she had no doubts that she was going to be awake most of the night. Downing a stamina potion as she strode through the wide opening of the dilapidated structure, she was thankful that the spring rains had reached a recent lull.

She stroked the donkey's cheek when he stuck his head over the stall door to see who was coming. The old beast snorted and bumped her hand with his nose when she stopped, obviously in protest. It made her giggle.

"You remind me of Dareth," she cooed as she scratched the back of his ears. "That hound could lay for hours while you rubbed his belly."

This time she knew that Fenris had followed her out to the barn, so she wasn't surprised when his clawed gauntlet came around to pat the animal's neck.

"So could I," he murmured, sliding an arm around her waist. The mental image that was conjured up in her mind's eye had her snickering.

"Now that would be a sight to see."

Fenris bent his head to rest his chin on her shoulder, the closest thing to affection that he ever expressed. Hawke understood how he felt. There wasn't a constant need for reassurance, yet, she couldn't help it when she tucked moments like these away in her memory, partly because she knew time was fleeting. It was just as Flementh had said to her so long ago; catch life while you can. Reluctantly, Hawke stepped away from the sweet creature and led Fenris by the hand to the ladder that led to the barn's loft. She turned, one foot on the ladder, to get a good look at him.

"You realize as soon as we get up there, someone is going to need something?" she teased, grinning.

"You realize that if they do I'm going to pull out their eyeballs through their nose?"

She burst out laughing and leaned against the wooden frame for support.

"Varric was right. The Chantry simply must mark these moments down on the calender and make them holidays."

"Who said anything about joking?" he asked, smirking.

He meant that. It had been months since they had actually been able to have even an hour to themselves. To have her in his arms, wanting him as desperately as he wanted her - only to walk away frustrated and aching - was wearing his patience thin. Too many nights, he had lain in his bedroll, his body tight and throbbing. He had tried to take the edge off himself on many occasions, but it had only intensified as the weeks had crawled by. The elf was certain that if he didn't have her soon, he was going to go insane. The way her eyes were glimmering with mischief in the dark was not helping him walk away now. Just like that, the mood shifted. He took a step towards her, cupping her chin as he slanted his lips over hers, his tongue sensuously sliding along hers. Her body seemed to melt against him, the blanket floating to the floor, forgotten.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't know you were in here!" he heard someone squeak behind them. He could feel Hawke shaking with barely suppressed mirth as he cursed colorfully in Tevinter. He turned his head to see Merrill standing with her back towards them. The donkey brayed and he shot it a glare. The blasted animal would have a sense of humor. Then Hawke's fingers were gently pressing his cheek as she made him look at her. She leaned up and whispered a promise into his ear that sent the blood rushing south. He nodded, turned on his heel and strode towards the dim lights of the inn, brushing past Merrill on his way out. When he was gone, the slight elf turned to her, her narrow face positively glowing red. Hawke was still chuckling when she spoke.

"It's alright, Merrill."

No, no, it isn't! I could feel him look at me like the Keeper used to! I swear, I thought he was going to turn me into a puddle of goo!"

Hawke pinned her with a mock severe frown and quirked an eyebrow.

"Don't think he wasn't tempted."

That truly sent the poor girl in to a tizzy, chattering apologies so fast that she might as well have been speaking her native tongue. Her voice was getting higher and higher, until Hawke reached out and grabbed her arms.

"It was a joke, Merrill."

The woman's eyes got impossibly wider, her mouth forming a big round O. Hawke silently prayed for patience as she moved back to lean against the ladder.

"Now, why did you come in here looking for me to begin with?"


	4. Chapter 4

Hawke spread her blanket over the floor of the hayloft, muttering under her breath. The old barn was chilly, but the fragrant hay would provide ample warmth. She shoved piles of it around her pallet, making a little nest for herself as the lantern she had borrowed cast dancing shadows on the walls. Satisfied, she dusted off her hands on her trousers and blew out the tiny wick. She lay down on her back, her arms behind her head, and stared up at the stars through the wide gaps between the boards of the roof. The stamina drought she had drunk earlier was coursing through her body. She felt energized and awake, but thoughtful. Memories, worries, musings - they all jumbled in her mind until it was simply a snarled mass; a knot of string that she was attempting to untangle one idea at a time.

She heard footsteps on the ladder and sat up, hand flying to the long knife concealed in her boot. She couldn't see who it was - the figure was merely a silhouette in the gloom of the loft. But then she relaxed, recognizing the outline as Fenris'. He moved over to where she was, his feet sliding along the wooden planks as if feeling their way around. Hawke reached over and lit a match obligingly. He blinked rapidly a few times before he saw her. Once he had his bearings, she blew it out, the scent of smoke drifting towards her nostrils in a pleasant manner. She moved over on the blanket when she felt him nudge her with one foot. She could hear a rustling noise, but he didn't lie next to her, as she had expected. Instead, she felt him suddenly above her, resting on his forearms and his lower body pressing intimately into the cradle of her hips.

His head bent, finding her lips in the dark with his hungry and insistent ones. She responded, pleased when she noted that her palms were sliding against the bare flesh of his chest. Fenris dragged his lips away, letting them glide lazily against her jaw to her neck, where he placed light kisses against the sensitive spot just below her ear as her eyes drifted close.

"What did Merrill want?" he murmured, not really caring about the answer.

"She's having trouble with Sebastian," Hawke replied, the huskiness in her voice what he had really wanted to hear.

She traced the patterns of the markings on his torso, fingertips teasing as they danced across his skin down towards his stomach. She kissed his collarbone, her hands seemingly everywhere. He brought her head back up with a tug, kissing her again as her fingers dipped dangerously past the band of his trousers. He caught them quickly, bringing them to his lips. One by one, he flicked his tongue against the pads of her fingers, as if she were a favorite candy he was savoring. Maker, he wanted her so bad that he felt he might explode, but he was determined to take his time, uncertain when he would be able to love her like this again.

"You know," he murmured in her ear, "that you are a constant torment? Do you know how many nights I've lain awake and aching for you?"

Fenris carefully balanced on one arm, moving his free hand to touch the soft skin of her belly beneath the hem of her shirt. His thumb stroked across the warm flesh there and she shuddered.

"You're enjoying that, aren't you?" he rumbled. Her soft mewl of appreciation was answer enough.

Smirking at her reaction, his mouth blazed a trail back down her neck while his fingers busied themselves skimming over her torso, eager to hear the quiet, delicious moans his touch invoked. He rose up to his knees, his heart hammering, tugging her up with him by the hand. Heat was pooling low in his belly as he yanked her shirt and breast-band over her head, then pulled her against him, groaning when their lips met heatedly. Hawke gripped his biceps as she knelt between his spread thighs. He dragged his fingers up her spine, making her arch into him, gasping into his mouth. She met his tongue with hers and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing them closer. Fenris made a deep noise as her feminine curves met the corded muscle of his chest, hardly able to believe how good she felt against him. He brought his hands around and between them, still kissing her, and cupped her breasts, relishing the sensation of their weight in his palms. He rolled her nipples with calloused fingers as he tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth.

"And this?" he asked when they broke apart for air.

Her hands skated down to rake short fingernails teasingly along the inside of his thighs, and the blood that had been roaring his ears flooded south so quickly that it left him dizzy.

"Wicked woman," he growled, feeling her grin against his lips.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pushed her back down to the blanket, dipping his head to take one coral bud into his mouth. He suckled her, his hardness throbbing against his trousers as he switched his attention from one to the other, his name tumbling past her lips, her fingers running through his hair.

Hawke slid her hand down again and stroked him firmly through the cloth of his pants. His head jerked up, air hissing through his teeth when she did it a second time. He moved from her and she immediately missed the warmth of his body. Then he was pulling her own trousers down, along with her smalls. She felt his hands wrap around her ankles, palms moving up along her calves. Then those devilish fingers were caressing her thighs as she parted her legs for him. She jumped when she felt his breath fan against the damp curls of her womanhood. Hawke let her head fall back against the soft hay, her wanton murmur barely audible.

He was above her again, his lips brushing hers. She could feel his hand still against the inside of her thigh, inching higher and higher. Just like that, he slid his fingers along her slick heat and she bucked against his hand.

Achingly slow circles were traced over her folds, making her moan. His tongue was circling the tip of one breast, mimicking the motion of his fingers. It was driving her crazy and he knew it. Fenris dipped his fingers inside her, pumping fast, shallow, causing her to writhe under him. Her inner muscles clenched around his fingers, making him aware that she was more than ready for him. She was so responsive to his touch, both of them breathing heavily. He had waited too long for this; the intimacy, the burning feelings that raged through him. He wasn't going to wait any longer.

In a flurry of movement, he had positioned himself above her. He paused.

"Please," she breathed, her hips coming up to meet his.

Satisfied with her answer, he buried himself to the hilt in one quick thrust, grunting at how tight she was. After a moment of letting her adjust to his size, he pulled back, then eased forward again, agonizingly slow, the hot friction maddening. Hawke must have felt impatient, because she did something absolutely mind blowing with her hips, then said in a commanding tone,

"Move!"

He wasn't in a state of mind to argue. Gradually, they found a mutual rhythm. It felt like a hot cord was coiling tighter and tighter near her core, rippling out to spiral up her body, making her toes curl and her heart pound. Her fingers twisted into the blanket when he lifted one of her legs to drape it over his shoulder. Hawke's inner muscles tightened around his length, both of them moaning. He resumed his movements, and after several deep, slow thrusts the cord that had been tensing in her body snapped. She peaked, calling his name, her hips jerking against him with surprising strength. Fenris felt her spasm around his length. He hung his head and groaned, pounding into her fast and hard now. He could feel the clenched heat low in his belly suddenly give way, warmth blooming through her as he reached his own release.

Fenris collapsed against her, spent. A fine sheen of sweat covered them, cooling rapidly in the evening air. He moved beside her, wrapping the blanket around them and pulling her to him, his chin resting on the top of her head. As he dropped a sweet, lingering kiss against her hair, Hawke felt sleep closing in around her consciousness. She let it, fairly certain that she wouldn't dream this night.

* * *

He awoke to sunlight streaming into his eyes. Blinking groggily and feeling chilly, he reached for Hawke, thinking she had rolled away from him in sleep. However, his fumbling fingers only came in contact with empty air. He sat upright, searching for her in the dim loft, but she was nowhere in sight. Wary and uneasy, he stood and noticed a note flutter to the ground at his feet. He bent and snatched it up, the leaden feeling in his stomach making him feel sick.

_Fenris,_

_I know nothing will ever keep you from me, as you promised, but something is keeping me from you. If we are to have the life that we both deserve, then there is something I have to do first and I have to do it alone. I know you won't understand and that you'll come after me, but I'll be long gone. Please just trust me and believe that I'll come back to you. You know what is in my heart._

_~Hawke_

Panic was threatening to choke him as he crushed the paper in his fist, her beautiful handwriting smearing all over his palm. He jerked on his armor and practically leaped down the barn ladder. The others were already up and milling about the little yard. The inn looked cold and dark against the dreariness of the morning. The rains had begun again, a drizzle gently sprinkling through the heavy air. Mountains rose behind in the distance, their base covered in thick woodlands. Roads lead everywhere out of town, a spiderweb of dull mud. She could have gone in any direction and he would have no idea if he was following or not, he realized in frustration. Something was incredibly wrong with the woman who was his world and he felt absolutely helpless. He turned right and then left, but there was nothing to be seen except grass, dirt, and empty, humid air. Bethany glanced over and stopped short, the wildness in the elf's eyes apparent and frightening.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, putting a hand against his chest to halt him.

"She's gone," he replied tersely and her eyes widened. He curled his lip in irritation at the delay, throwing the note she had written so carefully into the mud. Bethany picked it up and read it silently. The others also stilled and he noticed Anders bite his lip and look away.

Growling with barely suppressed rage, Fenris was in front of the stockier man in two strides, his hand around his throat and lifting him clear off the ground.

"What do you know, abomination?" he snarled, the mage's fingers scrabbling uselessly at his clawed gauntlets, unable to draw a breath to reply.

"Fenris!" Bethany barked. He whipped his head around, trembling with anger. Then, he dropped the man roughly, who rubbed his throat, gasping for air.

"She's…she's gone to look for something," Anders managed to croak, but Fenris hauled him up by the collar and shook him.

"That isn't good enough! What did she tell you that she couldn't tell me?" the enraged elf bit out through clenched teeth, each word punctuated by a jerk. Fear and worry was causing him to be rougher than he might have been, but he couldn't say he cared.

Anders's hands flashed white and he struck Fenris in the stomach with a ball of crackling energy, sending his friend flying back into the mud.

"She didn't know how to tell you, you stubborn fool," Anders yelled back.

Snarling like a beast, Fenris got up, his markings glowing blue, dropping into a battle stance. He moved towards the mage, fully intending to punch a smoking hole right through his chest and Anders lifted his staff in warning. Bethany ran up and placed herself between the two men. The fact that the sisters looked so similar was the only thing that saved Anders. Fenris locked eyes with ones that looked exactly like his lover's. The reminder was enough to momentarily calm him. He straightened and nodded, the glow fading. Anders also put down his staff and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot.

"A couple days after she killed Meredith," he began, "she came to the clinic to drop off supplies for me. I could see she was in pain; her eyes were dull, her skin was pallid…anyway, I made her sit down and let me get a good look at her. But when I touched her, I could feel something….wrong."

"What do you mean, something wrong?" Varric broke in impatiently, before Fenris could.

Anders sighed again, starting to pace.

"She showed me a nasty wound she had received in that fight. I had treated it right afterwards, so it was healing, in terms of physicality. But that damned lyrium sword must have pushed some of its energy inside of her, into her…essence, for lack of a better term. From what I could gather through examining the wound, the magical energies inherent in lyrium had been twisted in that idol. We all know that, but that thing has a consciousness; a will of its own."

With every word the mage uttered, Fenris felt the bubble of hatred for magic growing, along with the sense of panic that was tightening around his heart.

"That…thing…had every malicious intention of killing Hawke, because she was the one that destroyed its goals, whatever they were. And it wanted to kill her in the most agonizing way possible. It's sapping the very life force from her and with time, she'll just wither away - mentally, emotionally, physically - until there isn't anything left."

No one moved for a minute, all of them stunned into silence. Anders was hanging his head, but he looked up at Bethany, rubbing the back of his neck, an apology clear in his amber eyes.

"Maker help us all," Sebastian muttered, his benediction snapping Fenris out of his stupor and into motion. He began walking towards one of the roads that led away from the village. Bethany blocked his path again, arms spread wide, not flinching when his markings glowed dangerously bright.

"You can't find her alone," she said quietly.

"I disagree," he sneered, but didn't force his way past her.

They stared at one another for what seemed like hours. Suddenly, she dropped her arms and moved aside, jerking her head to the left and towards the mountains.

"She would have gone that way," she murmured, "to confuse people. But I know my sister. She thinks that we would believe she would choose the fastest and easiest route, so she picked the hardest."

Despite his inner turmoil, he clasped her shoulder in thanks. Bethany clapped her hand over his. A mutual understanding passed between them. He knew she was trusting him to bring her sister back safely.

"Bring her home alive, will you? I'd hate to have to kill Varric because he added that you both died in a lovers' tiff to the tale," she joked weakly with a small smile, which he returned, feeling a little comfort.

Then he took off at a trot across the rolling valley, the rain steadily increasing with every step.


	5. Chapter 5

The wind bit through the leather armor she wore, her fingers tingling despite the thickness of her fur-lined gloves. The closer to the mountain she had come, the colder the air became. She had reached the mountain's base just before noon. The giant fir trees soared far above her head as she tilted it back to look up at the sky through the emerald needles. Raindrops splattered against her face and she sighed. The rain refused to let up, turning the ground into a grayish soup. The rocks were slippery and the mud slick as she carefully picked her way up, cursing the entire trek. "The Maker must have a sense of humor," she thought bitterly, her progress slowed significantly by the dangerous terrain. When she stopped for a moment to catch her breath, she reached into her pack for a piece of dried meat and chewed it thoughtfully. Hawke closed her pack with a sharp tug, tying the leather cord in a firm knot. Giving it a pat, she then turned her attention to the surrounding area, pulling back the hood of her cloak so she could see better. She leaned over to rest her arm on a propped knee, her brown boot planted on a boulder. The rocky outcrop gave her an excellent view of the valley below.

In the distance, she could barely make out a dark shape, moving steadily in the direction of the mountain.

"Fenris," she murmured and shook her head, wet strands of her hair sticking to her face.

The man was a bloody nuisance. She had a good head start, but where she would eventually need to rest, Fenris would not. He could go for days without food or sleep, thus he had the advantage. Besides, a decade being a fugitive made it simplistic to find others. But, if she managed to find somewhere to conceal herself, she might be able to give him the slip. She turned and looked up at the mountain itself. It had numerous caves that she had passed on her way to the top. Goat paths were everywhere and she could easily lose herself in them, finding the pass she needed to cross the chain and flee to the coast.

Hawke sighed. Easily? He wasn't going to make this easy in the slightest. Maybe she should just wait for him to catch her. But then what? Apologize? Make him see her reasons for doing this alone? He wouldn't listen, even if she tried. No, she had to find a way to get him off her trail.

"Arguing with myself isn't going to get me any closer to what I need to do," she muttered, throwing her soggy hood up carelessly.

The rest of her afternoon was spent navigating the treacherous paths the goats had made for themselves. Steadily, she worked her way upwards and around the side of the mountain. The trail was narrow at best with the pass the merchants had carved through the rock snaking far below her feet. Hawke ran one hand along the side of the cliff, the rock slickly smooth under her fingers. With the other, she dragged a tree limb she had broken off from the tree line behind her, covering her tracks. Daylight was fading quickly when she finally reached the other side. Spotting a nook amongst the boulders, she wiggled her body to slip between the largest two. Certain she was obscured from view, she drew out a blanket and draped it over her body in an attempt to keep relatively dry. The night was uneventful.

Two days later, she hadn't seen any more signs of Fenris, which only made her more uneasy. She had been exceptionally careful in her movements once she had left the mountains behind her. Avoiding open expanses and roads was an old trick. Almost as soon as she came across the main highway that connected Starkhaven to Wycome , a merchant caravan became visible in the distance. Hawke managed to talk her way into being hired as a guard. The man was a jovial sort, but there was a shrewdness to his gaze that belied his cherubic appearance. She had no doubts the man could hold his own, but one could never be too careful these days.

She had proven useful more than once, her quick eyes and even quicker draw pinning bandits with deadly accuracy. Thankfully, no one cared to question her about background, which made it easy to blend in amongst them. She kept an eye trained behind her, wary that Fenris would be following closely, but if he was, she wasn't aware of it. They reached their destination with little trouble, the walls of Wycome a welcome sight, indeed. She was paid handsomely for only a few days' work, but she was appreciative. The merchant, who called himself Caspen, clasped her shoulder with a promise that she was welcome to work for him any time. Hawke thanked him, but declined, citing business of her own.

They parted and Hawke began making inquiries around the city about a decent inn in which to stay. Most people directed her to the Unicorn's Prance, a sprawling establishment in the center of the Merchant's Quarter of town. A white unicorn dancing in flowers hung over the door and neatly planted boxes of blooms garnished the large windows of all three stories. As she walked through the door, she could smell warmth, bread, and mulled wine; it was utterly comforting.

"Ye need somethin', luv?" an ample-figured woman inquired, her eyes as warmly chestnut brown as her hair.

Hawke nodded.

"Please, a room near the back and a hot meal would be wonderful," she said, pressing a number of sovereigns into the woman's palm.

The older lady's eyes widened considerably at the amount of coin.

"Lass, ye needn't 'ave paid so much! I'da gladly given a pretty thin' like ye anythin' ye asked," she protested in a brogue that reminded Hawke so strongly of Sebastian she could have hugged her.

"I'm more than happy to part with it. I would like to stay here a few days and I'd prefer if no one knew it. Besides," she grinned crookedly, "you remind me of a friend."

The woman laughed heartily.

"If this be the way ye treat yer friends, then I'm lucky to be jus' a reminder! What be yer name, Messere?"

"Hawke, and nevermind the formalities. I'm not that important of a person."

"Aye, as ye wish, 'awke. Lemme get a key from the 'usband, I'll be only a moment. Oh, and ye can call me Callie."

A few minutes later, Callie had a room ready for her on the second floor near the back of the solid wooden building. It had a small fireplace, being directly above the common room. Hawke smiled thankfully when the friendly woman had her balding husband bring up a large tub.

"A lady always deserves a 'ot bath after the road, my mama would say," Callie chortled, insisting on helping Hawke undress and wash her hair.

"Such lovely locks ye 'ave, luv," she cooed, running thick, but surprisingly gentle, fingers through it. "Makes me think of our youngest girl's. She used to love this when she was a wee 'un."

Callie chatted away as Hawke enjoyed the heated water and motherly attention, despite the aching memories of her own mother.

* * *

Hawke had been in Wycome three weeks, spending almost all of her time between the inn and the local Chantry. She had befriended the Revered Mother and lay sisters gladly. They were a gentle lot. The Revered Mother, in particular, was a sweet soul - middle aged, but still quite pretty. They spoke with the same kind of accent as Callie and her husband, leading Hawke to believe that, the city being this close to Starkhaven, it was natural the dialects should blend. The sisters were more than happy to help her search their library. Several of them would poke their heads through the giant double doors often, to see if she needed anything. Hawke always waved them away with a smile. Callie wasn't as easy to deter, however, fussing over her each evening when she came in. Hawke would try to shoo her away with a laugh, but the woman was determined that she should sit and eat in the common room with the other guests.

"Ye need some socializin', all locked up in that dusty place from dawn 'til dusk," she'd scold, even swatting Hawke on the rump fondly, like one would a child too shy to play with the other children.

Hawke could do little but comply. Callie and Matthus, her husband, refused to let her pay them anymore after the first week.

"Ye are no trouble at all, luv, and we are glad to 'ave ye here. Ye make the Unicorn shine, ye do. Now go and finish yer food 'fore it gets cold," Callie would remark.

And that was the end of it, as far as they were concerned. Hawke finally quit trying, privately delighted to have found such wonderful people. The inn was always bustling with activity, people coming and going, laughter and talk filling every corner. Hawke rarely actually spoke to anyone, content to listen to the local gossip and traveling tales. She tucked away bits of it in her memory, trying to piece together a good indication of where she should go. Magic was more often than not the last thing on these people's minds, but a few leading questions usually had them opening up to share what they knew. The nearest Circle was leagues away, but there were rumors of old ruins to the north that had once been the site of one.

She was also eager to hear of a strangely marked elf that might have been seen on the road, but no one ever mentioned anything that matched her lover's description. Hawke was relieved, but allowed herself to admit that she missed him deeply. The bed in her little room was soft and comfortable, but it was nothing compared to his body next to hers, his arms around her in the night. That would have to wait. As Hawke methodically picked through the number of volumes the Chantry possessed, she came across a certain tome that caught her attention. She had been through almost every shelf, doggedly reading every scrap of parchment that remotely resembled something about lyruim or magic. The book was slender, bound in black leather with silver letters and shoved behind a stack of scrolls near the far wall.

_Blood Mages of the Marches_ by Marthain Galdoy, she read. Clearly this was not a work the sisters cared for people to see, much less read at length. The afternoon sunlight slanted through the big windows, the first break in the rain for nearly a month. With a delicate touch, Hawke picked it up and set it on a nearby desk. The book seemed frail; the parchment thin and worn, and the ink faded with time. This must have been written many years ago. The subject was fascinating, she had to admit, but this Galdoy wrote like it was a personal journal of his own experiences. Names she didn't recognize littered the pages, but they seemed like they were important in their day. One passage caught her eye.

_Haldria was perhaps the most accomplished First Enchanter that ever lived in The Free Marches. Her research into the inherent properties of raw lyrium is well respected and widely read across the country. According to her notes on the subject, she had discovered that dwarves had mined and worked with the magical substance far longer than anyone was aware of, beyond the time of the initial recordings of their civilization. As is well known, the dwarves once had many Thaigs in the Deep Roads before the Darkspawn arrived. However, Haldria spent quite a bit of time amongst the industrious people, having convinced the local templars that her research on lyrium was vital and the dwarves were the best source of information. _

_Most were more than eager to speak with her and, through their tales, traced their lineage to a time before the Thaigs, back to when they lived deep beneath the earth, sunlight and plants all but unknown. They spoke of a culture before the worship of Paragons and ancestors; a people that crafted and worshiped idols of pure lyrium!_

"That makes sense with what we found down there," Hawke muttered, then read on.

_Haldria became convinced that expeditions had to be mounted by the templars, to see for themselves if this was true. Imagine, not only a greater source of lyruim, but the remains of a civilization that understood its properties better than even modern mages do! With time, she organized a group, herself included, to find a way below the Deep Roads. As she wrote in her notes, they did indeed find a way. However, as this humble author was conducting his own research, he found that after a while, her writings became increasingly repetitive, frantic, and frankly, nonsense. Her scribbled handwriting raves about a song she could barely hear and a desperate hunger. Nothing is known about what she found in the Deep Roads, but what is known is that only she and three templars out of the initial twenty came back to the surface. _

_They returned to the Circle compound, where they slaughtered every single living thing that was in their sights. It took only days for the Knight-Commander of Wycome to execute the lot of them, citing that Haldria had become a blood mage, obviously overpowering and killing all but two of her templar escorts, whom she enthralled to do her bidding. _

_The site was destroyed, the memory now all but forgotten._

Hawke felt goosebumps as she read, the chilling memoir sending a shiver down her back. She closed the book with a snap, the only light in the room flickering torches. Placing it exactly where she had found it, Hawke bid the sisters good night, then made her way back to the Unicorn's Prance, unable to feel warm until she stepped through its inviting door.

She had to find out exactly where those ruins were. It could be the key to understanding what had happened to Haldria and possibly what she could do to extract the idol's magic from her own body. Callie smiled at her when she stepped inside and Hawke found herself grinning in return.

"Ye find what ye needed this time, luv?"

"I think so, Callie." Hawke couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice and the landlady chuckled.

"T'is good, but do that mean ye'll be leavin' us soon?"

"Not for a while yet, Callie. I still have some business to conduct."

"Aye, that be best, then, luv. I lit the fire for ye, the room be warm and I'll be bringin' ye supper along in a bit."

Hawke spoke her thanks, taking the stairs two at a time. Tonight, she would sleep; tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.


	6. Chapter 6

Hawke had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow in her little room, exhausted. This new lead had her mind spinning and she was itching to investigate the Circle ruins for herself as soon as there was light enough. However, as she had told Callie, there was still business to take care of. Information and supplies were still needed in order to even begin to search. She would have to be patient. She had only been asleep for maybe a couple of hours when she woke up abruptly, a disturbing, churning feeling in the pit of her stomach that something wasn't right.

She lay still on her belly, her eyes still closed, listening. A breeze fluttered through the open window. The curtains slid against the wooden floor. The fire had become very low, a gentle pop the loudest sound to be heard. Hawke reached out with her senses, certain that she wasn't alone, and the hand that had rested beneath her pillow in sleep now gripped the hilt of her dagger. She breathed deeply, slowly, the layout of the room clear in her mind. An icy draft was coming from the far corner, near the door. Her body was taut as a bow string, every muscle screaming for her to react, but she waited. Sure enough, whatever it was moved, the coldness shifting direction till it brushed over her body from the foot of her bed. Instinctively, she rolled, twisting just enough to throw her dagger and hit the floor with a loud thud, the wind knocked out of her. She had landed hard on her shoulder. Shit, that was going to leave a nasty bruise in the morning. The thing screamed, sounding like a multitude of voices underwater; a demon.

Andraste's Girdle, why couldn't people just let her have one night's sleep in peace?

She didn't have time to dwell on it.

Hawke caught a glimpse of inky shadow slithering towards her from the left and she arched her back, finding her feet just as the damned thing was reaching a clawed hand to tear through her abdomen. A string of curses tumbled past her lips as she dodged another one's grasp, its blackened claw ripping a large gash through the fencer's shirt she wore to sleep. She skidded to a stop near the fireplace, fingers flying over her armor. Drawing her long knife and another dagger from their sheathes, she pitched forward, tucking her limbs in and tumbling to the right. The attack had connected though, blood trickling from a new wound on her forearm. She winced when the muscles in that arm flexed with her movements, barely parrying a slash to her face. She jabbed her knife into its neck viciously and it disintegrated, another one already taking its place. Two more rose out of the floor to rush at her, an attempt to outflank her. Catching their movement in her peripheral vision, she twisted again. Gritting her teeth, she kicked, her foot solidly planting in a shade's face. It shrieked in pain, then was abruptly cut off as her dagger sank into its chest. More were appearing out of seemingly every corner.

Maker, there were just too many of them.

She had left herself vulnerable and cried out when claws raked across her lower back. She turned around, chest heaving. She was losing too much blood and there were already three more shades solidifying in the room. Fire erupted from near the window, a molten arm thrashing the floor. Marvelous, a rage demon; just what she needed.

Her shoulders back, feet braced, she twirled her remaining long knife in her hand. She hadn't fought this hard, this long, to die here. They were closing in, weaving back and forth in their own darkness to confuse her, as the rage demon's cackle rang in her ears. It pointed a long red finger at her, its intentions clear. Hawke slid her right foot along the floor, her posture shifting in anticipation of their charge. Just a few more seconds...

A howl of rage tore through the night, sending a shiver chasing down her spine and causing the shades to pause in their advance. A tall figure darted into the room with a deep snarl and a flash of blue, its incredibly long arm slicing through all three shades, their forms bursting into a cloud of noxious dust. It whirled around, charging into the rage demon's gaping maw. The figure flung out its arm again, slicing an arc through the air, metal singing as it clove through the demon's fiery body. It crumpled into ash, the stink of sulfur and burnt flesh enough to make Hawke nauseated. It was only a few seconds before every single shade had been reduced to ash. She leaned back against the wall, letting her dagger fall to the floor with a clatter.

"I didn't need help, you know," she groused weakly.

"Ever the grateful one," the figure muttered, its voice male and its arm reaching at its back, obviously returning its great-sword to its place. His back was to her.

Hawke slid to the floor then, her legs buckling under her. Blackness was flitting around her already dimming vision as she gripped at her arm, trying to staunch the flow of blood. She looked down at her crimson fingers, oddly detached. Her eyes fell on the multiple holes in her clothing.

"Dammit all, this was my favorite shirt!"

The blue glow faded when he turned to look at her. The man was kneeling at her side with two long strides, the cold feel of metal gauntlets biting into her sore shoulder. She hissed in a painful breath and the hand was immediately removed. Then warm fingers were caressing her cheeks, gently forcing her to look up into worried green eyes. She smiled dreamily.

"You have pretty eyes," she murmured and the man's brow furrowed even more.

"Stop quoting Isabela, Hawke. It is not a conversation I wish to repeat with you," he replied, searching her face quickly before his hands began to move over her, looking for injuries. He noted the ones along her arm and stomach; bad, but not too serious. Careful of her wounds, he gently pulled her forward, spotting the deep gashes in her back. A sharp intake of breath accompanied his discovery. Those were very serious.

"You're in bad shape," he stated flatly, not letting his concern show past the tightness in his face.

"Ever the blunt one," she chuckled, mocking his earlier sarcasm.

"Where are your healing potions?"

She pointed to the fireplace, her lip twitching at her proven point. He stood, rummaging through the leather bag swiftly. Grunting in approval when he found what he needed, he moved back to her, gently shifting her body until she was cradled in his lap. He lifted the bottle to her lips, letting her sip at it. She blanched at the bitter taste.

"Why can't they make those things taste good?" she complained when she had finished the bottle, a tingling sting shooting through her limbs.

"Because that would be convenient. Maker forbid mages are ever so accommodating," he replied, brushing stray strands from her face.

They sat there for a while. His fingers stroked through her hair, brushing against her neck softly, while his other hand rubbed the skin of her arm, trying to generate heat into her skin. She resisted the urge to purr at his touch, but she couldn't stop her arms from wrapping around his shoulders, her knees folding up to curl into him. Her eyes drifted shut.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Well, that makes me feel better."

"Would you rather I lie?"

"No, I like your honesty."

"You are a rare woman then."

"Hasn't that been already established?" she inquired with a wry smile, then lifted her head to give him a puzzled look.

"If you're mad, then why are you cuddling with me?"

"This isn't cuddling," he replied gruffly. "You need to keep warm while the potion works."

"But that's what the fireplace is for," she protested sleepily.

"Hawke?" he asked as he stood again and lifted her like she weighed nothing, his voice somewhat stern.

"Hmm?"

"Go to sleep."

"No, I don't want to dream again."

"You won't dream," he assured her, as he laid her on the bed, pulling her bloody shirt over her head before placing the covers over her. She instantly missed the warmth of his body. He had moved to a chair by the window, staring out into the night. There was silence for a few moments as her breathing began to deepen once again.

"Fenris?" she whispered.

"Yes, Hawke."

"Why are you here at all?"

Another bout of silence.

"I keep my promises," he said after a few moments.

She thought about that for a while, sleep close to overtaking her.

"Fenris?"

"Hawke," he growled in warning.

"I've missed you."

There was another pause. She thought he might not have heard her, but just before she drifted off again, his voice was speaking soft words in Tevinter against her ear. Their meaning was clear.

* * *

The sun rose cheerily the next morning and Hawke sat up, stretching languidly. She cracked her neck, feeling stiff and more than a little sore. Rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm, she sighed, not really wanting to have the conversation that she knew was coming. But, when she finally looked over at where she had last seen Fenris, he was no where in sight. Startled, she threw back the covers and rushed to the window. Nothing. She looked down at the floor and picked up her tattered shirt. It was covered in blood and purple dust, reaffirming that last night hadn't been a dream. But why had he left? Hawke shook her head, clearing it. She couldn't worry about that now. He was here, obviously having found her and determined to keep an eye on her...the persistent, nosy bastard. Growling under her breath, she padded over to the wash basin, dunking her head in the cool water.

Ideas whirled through her mind and she quickly tossed each one aside. He had tracked her down and there was no possible way he was going to let her out of his sight again. If that was the case, where was he? Frustrated and worried, Hawke combed out the knots in her hair and dressed. There were more pressing concerns, such as who had sent those monsters after her last night. Was she getting too close to a blood mage coven? Had someone recognized her as the Champion of Kirkwall? Was her research stepping on the wrong toes? She could feel the tension headache building in the back of her head. Too many questions and not enough time to answer them. Whoever it had been, it was doubtful they would give up after one failed attempt. She was just going to have to wait them all out. Unfortunately, the Maker had not blessed her with patience.

Flinging the door to her room wide, she grabbed her pack and strode out the door. If Fenris wasn't going to let her do this, then he'd just have to keep up.

"I hope all that dancing in your mansion gave you light feet," she shot over her shoulder, confident that he could hear her every word.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke strode down the narrow backstreets, the crooked wooden frames of the houses looming above her. She turned left, then right, doubling over her trail, only to switch directions again. She glanced up casually on occasion, looking for any sign of Fenris or more shades. After last night's encounter, she preferred to take a different route altogether to get to the Chantry and back to the Merchant Quarter. Guilt tugged at her, but she squashed it ruthlessly. She needed the book and the sisters wouldn't miss its absence, considering where she had found it. The twisting streets served as both excellent cover and a bad place to get cornered. If anymore shades came after her, she would be just as limited in the close quarters as they were. Still, better than a number of innocents getting slaughtered in the crossfire. She turned again and slipped through a curtain, the back entrance of one of the dozens of shops in the district.

Naturally, her choice of entrance had the shopkeeper glaring daggers, but the amount of sovereigns she was willing to spend for supplies, as well as information, reversed his sour expression fairly quick. A bit of haggling and she had everything she needed. Satisfied, she exited out the front, blending in with the throng of people in the square. Hawke had little choice, since the only paths to the four cardinal gates were the main roads paved through the city. Stall owners screeched above the din, hawking their wares at anyone who passed. Entertainers were on every corner, in a dazzling array of colorful costumes. Hawke took it all in with a small grin, though no one could have seen it with her face hidden in the shadow of her hood.

She had come to truly enjoy the city of Wycome. It was a lively, comfortable place and she was admittedly a touch sorrowful to leave, especially the Unicorn's Prance. Callie and Matthus had been quite upset that she had to go, but they seemed to understand the necessity.

"Ye'll come back to see us again, won't ye, lass?" Callie had asked with an affectionate smile.

With a heavy heart and a promise to return, she had taken her leave of the beautiful inn, refusing to look back.

Hawke was hopeful that she would be able to slip out of the northern gate undetected, but she was also certain that Fenris couldn't be that far behind her. The guards didn't even notice her passage as she blended into a group of merchants, who had decided to set out in the late afternoon, due to the coolness of the evening air. No one liked to travel in the mid day heat. Jostled hard enough to make her teeth clack together, she moved away as soon as she passed through the outer gate, quickly sliding down the side of the ditch and heading for the nearby woods.

The trees swallowed her almost as soon as she stepped past the tree line. Hawke had been walking for a while when she sensed someone following. She darted to the side, her back to a trunk, and waited.

Sure enough, barely audible, was the soft padding of bare feet on pine needles. Whoever it was came closer, the footsteps growing louder then stopping completely. Hawke took several shallow breaths through her mouth, and then peeped around the tree. The forest looked empty, but the hair on the back of her neck was standing up in warning. It hadn't been her imagination. Making a quick decision, she reached above her, pulling herself up into the lower branches of the tree, the leaves along with her dark clothing obscuring her from view.

Hawke shrugged her shoulder and retrieved her bow, gripping it tightly in her hand. Daylight was fading quickly with the setting of the sun and Hawke whispered a minor enchantment, her pupils dilating, allowing her to see in the growing dark. Being born into a magic bloodline had its perks. She waited for several tense minutes, the forest so quiet that it was unnatural.

"Come on, I know you're there," she whispered, willing her tracker to appear. Rustling to her left immediately drew her attention and she silently drew an arrow from her quiver. A short, dark haired man came into view, twin daggers gripped in each hand. He never saw the arrow that slammed through his throat and he fell to the ground with a soft gurgle. Hawke jumped lightly to the earth below. In a series of swift actions, she retrieved the arrow, coldly slit his throat to be sure he was dead and began to search the body. He was an elf, with strange tattoos near his right eye. Where had she seen that before? She flashed back to an encounter with an Antivan Crow almost a year ago now near Sundermount. What was his name? Zevran maybe? With a disgusted shove of her boot, she kicked the man's leg. This one did their reputation little credit.

It mattered little; this was obviously a terrible representative of their organization. Perhaps this had been his first mission, she thought as she took his daggers. She slid and buckled the sheaths smoothly around each thigh. Now, who had sent him? She patted down his pockets and came across a bronze pendant, decorated with a sword surrounded by flames.

"Templars?" she asked aloud incredulously, her eyes wide. "The bloody templars sent an assassin after me?"

Her mind was whirling and she felt sick to her stomach. There was no where safe to go. The templars had stations in almost every village. Her head jerked up suddenly, her heart dropping as the realization hit her that they would probably go after her friends too. She would go to the ruins, see what she could find and then she would search out her companions. They had to be warned. With any luck, they had stayed together. She wasn't worried about their safety. Each of them was more than capable of taking care of themselves, but their chances increased significantly if they knew what was coming.

Satisfied that she had taken everything of value off the corpse, she stood abruptly, turned on her heel and walked away, a very Fenris-like sneer on her lips.

They were going to have to do better than this.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder if they had also sent those shades after her the previous night. It didn't make sense, templars working with blood mages, but after seeing what they were capable of through the actions of Meredith, Hawke supposed she shouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be true.

* * *

After the assassin, Hawke didn't dare light a fire, instead curling up in the roots of a large tree, her cloak and spare blanket pulled around her tight. But the night was cold and she shivered; her mind was so full of worry and plans that sleep was a distant dream at best. With a jolt she sat up, the crunch of a twig alerting her to something nearby. Daggers were in her hands before she thought about it.

What in the Maker's name did it take for them to get the message? Anything coming after her wasn't coming back alive.

Hawke stood, her back against the rough bark, muscles tensing as she prepared to strike.

"Hawke?" a familiar voice called softly, making her sigh in relief and agitation.

"I'm here, Fenris," she called back, sheathing her weapons as he came into view, clearly visible since the enchantment she had cast was still working. They both needed answers.

He stood in front of her, hands at his sides and she noted that he was flexing his fists, something he did when he was not at ease. She ached to touch him in reassurance, but doubted that it was a good idea at this point, so she waited. Neither said anything for several moments, just searched the other's face.

"I need to understand why you left," he finally spoke, echoing what she had said to him not long after they had killed Danarius.

Hawke took a shuddering breath, letting her head fall back against the tree. He couldn't see her expression in the dark.

"You won't like the answer, Fenris," she warned.

"Try me," he replied with a small smirk.

She sighed.

"I left for two reasons. The first, Anders told you about. No one can help me with this taint, Fenris. Not even you."

"You could have trusted me, as I did you," he growled and she winced. Damn, that hurt.

"I won't deny you that," she said quietly, "but it wasn't about trust."

She moved forward and trailed gloved fingers down his cheek, daring to because there was no way she could not. He didn't shy away from her touch.

"Then what?"

"The second reason."

"Which is?"

She took a shuddering breath. This was either going to bring them closer or tear them apart. Hawke was quiet for so long that he had half convinced himself that she wasn't going to speak at all. She dropped her hand, finally breaking her silence.

"I come from a long line of magic users. I wasn't born a mage, but I still have that blood. The idol's lyruim taint has merged with the inherent magic flowing in my veins and it is killing me. But, I think-"

She stopped, honestly afraid to continue, and hung her head. But he brought her chin up with a finger.

"What are you thinking, Amalthia?" Dammit, he just had to go and use her given name, didn't he?

"I think," she whispered, " that getting rid of it is not possible without someone getting killed. It's been in me for too long. Instead, I am going to learn how to harness it."

"You've found a way to do that?" he asked after a few heartbeats, his voice lacking the harsh bite that she was anticipating.

"No, but I think where I'm going holds the key to finding a way."

"You've set your mind to this course?"

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"Do you believe that your life will still be in danger?"

She shook her head this time.

"I cannot be certain, but I doubt it."

"Then I have no choice but to follow," he rumbled. Hawke felt her eyes widen in shock, taking a step back, her back hitting the tree again.

"You mean that?" She felt hope fluttering in her chest but was unsure if she should trust it.

He moved forward and placed a hand on either side of her head, pinning her in place.

"I promised you that nothing would keep me from you. I told you, my foolish Hawke... I keep my promises," he murmured, just as his lips slid over hers in a silken caress that made them both forget where they were.


	8. Chapter 8

Fenris felt her arms come up and grasp his shoulders, pulling him closer. He obliged willingly. Hawke molded her body to his, the softness of her curves pressing against him making him groan against her lips. His hands moved of their own accord, releasing the tree and sliding down to her waist. Her tongue glided along his lower lip before she sipped at it gently. Maker, she was going to drive him crazy.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, resting his forehead against her shoulder, trying to remember how to breathe. Rediscovering the ability, he lifted his head and looked down at her, his hand coming up to cup her face gently.

"I am still angry with you, Hawke."

"I expected as much," she muttered and he could hear the smile in her voice. He couldn't decide if he was pleased about that or not. Either way, he wasn't about to let her go again. The hand that remained on her waist flexed possessively. He could make out that she had tilted her head in the dim moonlight.

"Why didn't you stay last night?" she asked and Fenris felt his body react strongly to the husky note of her question. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear delicately, relishing the shiver that ran through her body at his touch.

"Because if I did, I'd have ravished you before dawn," he replied in a low voice, hearing her sharp intake of breath.

"You say that like it would have been a problem," she murmured and he grinned.

He moved his head, capturing her mouth in a fiercely hungry, achingly slow kiss, igniting a smoldering burn in his veins.

"Tempting as you are," he rasped when they stopped for air, "I have never wanted a mere, quick coupling with you."

His lips trailed lightly against her jaw, working their way back to her ear.

"I intend to always take my time with you," he whispered heatedly, giving the fluttering pulse point in her neck a sharp nip for emphasis.

Hawke growled and fisted a hand in his hair, tugging. She could see his smirk clearly through the darkness.

"And if I am in no mood for gentle and slow?" she inquired, eyes narrowed. He arched a brow, still smirking, and Hawke found it decidedly infuriating. The expression was answer enough; he had no intention of letting her have her way. She pushed against his shoulder in a firm way. If that was how he was going to be, then they would both be unsatisfied for a while.

"Let's get going, then. I won't be sleeping tonight."

His low chuckle of self-satisfaction had her pinning him with a pointed glare. When she realized he couldn't see it, she growled again in annoyance and stooped to pick up her forgotten blanket. Grateful for the distraction, Hawke made swift work of gathering up her camp, feeling Fenris' eyes on her the entire time. Didn't he have anything else to look at?

"Nothing as interesting as you, Hawke," he noted dryly. Damn, she really had to stop thinking out loud.

Not bothering to reply, Hawke straightened up and looked at him, immediately regretting the motion. He was leaning against the trunk of the tree, arms crossed loosely across his chest. He appeared relaxed, his eyes dancing with mischief, a small smirk refusing to stop playing around his lips. She was torn between the desire still coursing through her body and the impulse to forcefully remove that smugness right from his lips. Giving in to neither, Hawke whirled, hair bouncing around her shoulders.

"We should move. There are more than shades after me," she said tersely, striding north.

He caught up with her and kept pace.

"What do you mean?" The humor was gone from his voice, replaced with a soft concern. It made her heart and expression soften. Cursing inwardly at her inability to remain irked with him, she began to explain what had occurred earlier in the forest. As they walked, she also spoke of her strange dreams and what she had found in the Chantry.

They were still walking when the sun rose, bathing the woods in warm light.

xxxx

"Have you heard or seen anything like this curse in the Imperium?" she asked when her story was complete.

Fenris shook his head.

"No, and I doubt that anyone has managed to live to understand it, much less speak about it. This Galdoy obviously had no idea what he had stumbled across. Are you sure that you'll find anything at the old Circle site?"

"Not especially, but I have to investigate every possible connection. What are my choices, really?" she asked with a shrug.

"Limited, it would seem," he agreed.

It was late afternoon when they found the ruins. They emerged from the trees and stepped into a wide open field. While the trees ringing the area were green and blooming, full of the life of spring, the clearing seemed utterly devoid of any vegetation, except a great network of thorns. Vines of the sharp plants clung to the charred remains, like worms feeding on a burnt skeleton. What grass had once been was now nothing but burnt earth, gray ash billowing up with every step they took. What once must have been a grand tower had been reduced to rubble. Scattered paper; strips of cloth; wooden beams; even a cooking cauldron and all manner of other debris were strewn across the vast expanse of scorched ground. Despite the devastation, there was a hum of magic. It hung heavily in the air, crawling over Hawke's skin like a living thing, and it felt strange and unnatural.

Even Fenris could feel it, his fingers reaching to stroke the hilt of his great sword warily.

"This place has me…unsettled," Hawke admitted in hushed tones. Fenris nodded his agreement. They spoke no more as they tread cautiously towards the center.

Hawke couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. She kept turning her head from side to side, but could see nothing. As they passed the remains of the perimeter wall, Fenris stopped short; tensed. Hawke drew her bow in one smooth motion, an arrow in place before she blinked. The magic practically hummed over her body, setting her teeth on edge. She reached out with her senses, listening to the eerie silence; feeling the shift in the wind; smelling pine, dust, and burnt flesh. All of it made her uneasy, but there was nothing to indicate anything living, besides the two of them, walked the earth.

Nothing living…shit!

Hawke spun, arrow pointed at the ground below her and shouted to Fenris,

"Run!"

A skeleton arm erupted from the dirt, clawed hand grasping a rusted blade. The grinning skull that followed grinned up at her, hollow eye sockets glowing with a malicious yellow light. She fired, not allowing it to fully emerge from the earth, and it clattered back into its grave, but more corpses were pulling themselves free. Fenris swung a low arc with his blade, his target shattering with a loud rattle of bones. He spun, locking swords with another that had lumbered up to the left of him.

Hawke kept her own attackers at bay with her rapid archery, firing shaft after shaft, her aim never wavering. Eventually she ran out of bolts. Sliding her beloved bow into its harness, she drew her new daggers and tested their weight in her palm, finding them perfectly balanced. Her face twisted into a vicious snarl, she easily leapt over a corpse's awkward slice at her feet. She landed, sending its skull flying with a brutal kick in its teeth, the skin still attached to its head flapping sickly.

For a split second, she was able to look over at Fenris and she felt her heart stop.

He whirled, sword held in both hands and straight out in front of him. Bones scattered as the blade connected with three different skeletons, but more were already replacing their defeated brethren. Fenris' markings were glowing brightly as he ripped another corpse's spine from it, the now unsupported frame crumpling to the ground. He didn't see the one behind him until it was too late. The yellow light in its hollow head flared as itsaxe cut through the leather armor protecting Fenris 'legs. He grunted in pain, clutching at the wound as he sank to the ground. Seeming to sense an opportunity, more skeletons began to swarm around him.

Hawke felt something inside her snap. Rage filled her mind, sharpening her senses even as it clouded her rationality.

She let out a howl that made the corpses pause, turning their attention in her direction. Fenris looked up at her roar of fury, not recognizing her as the woman he knew. Her eyes were the same color, but there was nothing of his lover in them, only a frenzied wraith. Something pulsed through her skin, red lines snaking over flesh like veins, and power came off of her in waves. Her body trembled as it contorted, her head thrown back in another howl of fury. She began walking forward, throwing down her daggers as she moved.

The skeletons changed course to meet her advance; whatever was controlling them realizing that she was the greater threat at the moment. Her beautiful face twisted as she pulled back her lips, displaying a wolfish grin that Fenris found none too comforting. The nearest corpse raised its arm to strike and she turned that wicked countenance towards it, her eyes narrowed. She flicked her wrist and the damned thing exploded in a shower of dust. Unfortunately for them, the demons didn't have the intelligence to recognize their danger.

She shifted her stance, drawing her arms inward towards her chest, fingers working in a flurry of movement. Suddenly, she thrust her arms back out, and the earth rippled around her feet like she was a stone that had been thrown in a pond. The ground rolled outwards and skeletons were swallowed into the dirt. Still, more came, and she tilted her head, that terrifying smile never leaving her face. She brought her right hand up, fingers splayed. As more of the undead shambled in her direction, she turned her palm up, closing her fingers until they made a point, holding them there for a few heartbeats. Then, she released lightning bolts that flew from her fingertips, the smell of charred bone filling the air as her targets disintegrated into dust.

Nothing moved after that.

Fenris barely dared to breathe. Hawke stood completely still for several minutes. That damned grin finally faded, though, as did the red lines that had pulsated with energy. Her eyes glazed over and she began to sway on her feet. He struggled to rise and his attempts brought her gaze to him.

"Fenris?" she whispered.

He limped over to her as she fell to her knees, shaking like a flower in a strong breeze. The elf placed a gentle hand in her hair while he used the other to rummage through her pack. With a snap of his neck, he downed a healing drought and brought out another, ignoring the tingling fire in his thigh. He carefully helped her settle back until she was sitting on her rear and wrapped her limp fingers around the bottle. She still seemed not fully herself, but as she looked up at him, the recognition in her eyes gave him some peace of mind.

"Drink," he ordered and she obeyed without complaint.

She handed the empty container back to him and he hurled it away from them. She started to sway again, her eyes rolling back in her head.

"Hawke!" Fenris' cry was the last thing she heard before the blackness swallowed her.


	9. Chapter 9

Hawke opened her eyes and quickly shut them again, groaning at the excruciating stab of light. After a moment, she tried again, able to squint and glance about the area. She was lying on her side under a thin blanket, facing Fenris, who was sitting near a small campfire he had obviously built. The flickering glow cast shadows on the hard, circular stone walls that surrounded them. Carefully, Hawke sat up, the blanket sliding down to her waist as she moved to get a better look. The roof above them was also stone, cold drops of water dripping down to plop lazily against the dirt floor, which stretched out towards a set of steps that descended past the light of the fire into blackness. A frigid blast of air rushed towards her from that direction, making the fire dance wildly before settling again. Behind the elf was another set of steps leading to a large set of wooden doors. There was a smell of damp, decaying earth under the overwhelming musty scent of age and old magic.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice echoing faintly in the empty expanse of the room. She cringed at the hollow sound.

"We're just beneath the tower. I found the doors when I was looking for a safer place for you to recover."

Hawke shivered as she stood and went to sit beside him, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. Fenris lifted his arm and she leaned into his warmth.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after a long silence.

"You have done nothing to warrant an apology, Hawke," he replied, fingers twining in her hair in an attempt to comfort.

"No, I'm sorry that I lost control of the situation up there," she said, pointing up with a frown.

Fenris shook his head and gave her a stern look. He tipped her chin up to make her look at him.

"Hawke, I know that the magic you used was not your doing, but the idol's magic reacting with the dormant in your blood. It was an act of defense and I do not blame you for that."

The truth in his eyes eased some of her guilt, but she was not entirely convinced.

"This is why we are here in this evil place, for you to learn control," he continued. She nodded, a smile of thanks curving her lips.

"How long was I asleep?"

He shrugged.

"Several hours, I would guess. It's difficult to measure time down here."

Hawke hummed her agreement as Fenris rummaged in his pack and handed her a hunk of bread. She broke it and split the dry morsel with him. They ate in silence and Hawke nudged him to indicate he should sleep as well.

"I'll keep watch."

Surprised at his lack of argument as he stretched out beside her, she could only conclude that he was just as weary as she. That was when she remembered his wound and she ran a worried hand against the puckered skin that was visible through the gash of leather. Breathing a sigh of relief at how quickly it had healed over, she remained by his side as he slept, making a mental note to patch his armor with the spare scraps she had bought.

As the hours crawled by, Hawke turned over the events that had led her to this place. Those corpses had armor that was similar in design to that of the templars, but it was not an exact match. It was possible that these were the remnants of the knights that had been stationed at the Circle and slaughtered by Haldria. None of those that had risen from the earth were magic users, which puzzled her. The magic that remained in the tower sparked over her skin just as it had when they had entered the clearing above. Where were those bodies? Hawke was not certain she wished to know the answer and felt blessed by Andraste herself that they had not encountered them. Without the ability to control the merging of magic in her own body, she doubted they would be able to stave off an attack of that kind and survive.

Hawke stirred the flames absently, wondering when Fenris had managed to scrounge for firewood. He stirred then and saw her expression of deep thought. He reached out a hand and touched her arm with a gauntleted hand, then rose. Hawke had him stand still as she stitched new leather over the tear in his armor. When she was finished, he moved experimentally about the space, satisfied with the ease of mobility.

"Perhaps you should have explored other employment options in Kirkwall," he remarked dryly.

"And miss out on all the blood, death, and power? Maker forbid," she exclaimed, her hand flying to her cheek in mock distress.

He chuckled and bent to wrap strips of cloth he had previously dipped in the spare oil Hawke had brought with her around branches he had found, creating torches for them to carry. The extra branches and cloth he stored in the large pack Hawke always kept. After the torches were lit, she put out the campfire. He handed her a branch and they began walking into the yawning darkness.

Xxxx

They spoke little as they trekked through the black tunnel. The roof was high over their heads, the light from their torches unable to fully penetrate the gloom above them. Hawke was not at all certain what they were looking for, much less what they would find. She suspected that there might be an archive based on Galdoy's book. He spoke of the fact that the lower floors were where the Knight Commander found Haldria, deep in the bowels of the tower. Layers of rust-colored dust were disturbed and scattered around her boots. She glanced over her shoulder at Fenris, wrinkling her nose.

"Do you smell that?"

"Blood," he answered, his hand reaching back to touch his sword's hilt.

There was a prickle on the back of her neck and Hawke rolled her shoulders in a deliberate attempt to shake off the unsettling sensation. The feel of magic grew stronger the further they went; the air was becoming heavy, thick, and difficult to breath. The path ahead twisted back and forth like a bleakly-colored serpent, causing them to tread carefully around each curved corner and slowing their progress. There were no openings, however, only the winding passageway. It wasn't long before they began to notice that the tunnel was widening and Hawke held up a hand to indicate that they should stop. She felt him lean close to her ear.

"It may be a good time to use that little enchantment of yours. I have a feeling that our torches will attract unwanted attention."

"Are you so sure that's wise? Magic may attract something more than attention," she hissed, mildly put out that he considered her ability 'little'.

"It's a risk, but at least we'll be able to see what's coming from further away than the edge of the torchlight," he snapped.

With a huff of irritation, she whispered the words, her magic a warm tingle in the cold underground. Fenris grunted in surprise behind her when he put out the torches and found that he could also see through the murk. She couldn't suppress her satisfied smirk. They started again and walked into what appeared to be a vast antechamber. Her boots echoed eerily as the floor turned from earth to stone. Grooves ran in a circular pattern beneath their feet, giving the impression that the room had been used for some ritual purpose. Braziers lined the walls, cold and ashen, as wells as several arched doorways.

They stood in the middle of the room, trying to orient themselves. Ornate lines stretched out in four directions, mimicking the cardinal directions. Hawke spun slowly, tracing the contours with her eyes. She then raised them and strode to the nearest doorway, running a hand lightly over the carved wooden surface; it was sticky. Feeling sick with the knowledge of what was coating the door, she backed away swiftly and turned to another. This one was smooth against the leather of her gloves, but there was an icy weight of dread in her stomach.

Hawke moved to a third door, this one also heavily carved. She touched the wood tentatively, relieved when she felt nothing but cool dampness. She beckoned to Fenris and together, they pushed it open and looked inside. Paper was scattered across the floor, yellow and curling with age. Magic hung less heavily here and Hawke stepped into what was revealed to be a sizable alcove. Shelves and tables lined the walls, strewn with dust, notes, and books. Fenris was right behind her, positioning himself near the archway and ensuring the door stayed open.

"You'd think mages would be more organized," she groused as she casually rifled through the parchments on one table near the far wall. He glanced in her direction and Hawke could see him bite his tongue, making her chuckle. Finding nothing of interest, she began to methodically search the rest of the room. Her eyes scanned over various scribbling, noting the handwriting seemed familiar. She pulled out Galdoy's book and placed it on the desk.

"Sweet Mother of Mercy," she muttered. The slanted, curling hand matched perfectly; the bastard had actually come here! But why had a lone scholar been here to conduct research? And what did he take with him when he left? She brushed away more paper and made a small noise of astonishment. Long, savage claw marks ripped through the dark wood of the table, like something big had lashed out in fury. Hawke began to doubt then that she could learn anything of control here. She traced them with a cautious finger, discerning for the first time the large swaths of blood. Hawke turned and scrutinized the room more closely. The walls, the floor…Maker's Breath, even the ceiling was covered in the equivalent of angry welts, the coppery scent of blood suddenly becoming overpowering.

Hawke's eyes widened as the realization hit her; the smell of blood wasn't coming from the room.

Whatever had made these slashes had never left…and its presence was bringing the scent of blood with it.

"Hawke," Fenris warned.

"I know. I feel it, too," she let out in a rush, shoving various things into her pack. She would have to examine it all later. Something was coming and it was moving fast. Cursing, Hawke whirled around, heart pounding with adrenaline, and her gaze landed on the wall directly across from the entryway. She saw a bookcase that looked like it had been pulled forward. Curious, she walked over and peered behind the huge shelf, a narrow passage exposed to her enhanced vision.

"Fenris, this way," she barked, turning in time to see him shoving the large door shut.

Alarm was pitted firmly in her belly, her skin becoming clammy as they slipped behind the bookcase. Hawke felt the elf's gauntlet grip her gloved hand tightly and they sprinted down the passageway, heedless of what danger they may be running toward, but fully aware of the one that was following them.

A blood chilling screech rang out as they ran and Hawke managed to toss a glance over her shoulder. She couldn't see anything, but she sensed that an inhuman presence was filling the room they had just fled. The corridor turned sharply to the left and she felt the ground begin to shift upwards, but they didn't slow down. Fenris was almost dragging her behind him and she jerked her hand free of his grasp so that she could run beside him.

"Duck," she yelled as she drew her bow, skidding to a stop as she fired a lit arrow behind them.

Light exploded in the tunnel as a wave of heat washed over them, the aftershock to her explosive bolt. Having qunari connections certainly had its benefits. Hawke fired again, then took off, Fenris at her heels. More screams echoed through the passage; she had found her mark, but it had a price. She could feel the thing rushing after them and she was certain it was going to overtake them at any moment.

Then they were at another door, this one small and, typically, locked. Fenris snarled and slammed his shoulder into the wood, his markings flaring, but to little avail; it was stuck fast.

"Move," she ordered.

Hawke fired once again, this time directly at the door, lacing the arrow in ice with a whispered word. Frozen wood exploded in sharp shards around them and they bolted through the opening and into bright daylight. Hawke blinked rapidly as the burst of light burned her sensitive eyes, but her feet kept going.

She turned to look once more at the ruins as they sped away and what she saw would haunt her memory for the rest of her days.

The shadowy form of a woman hovered in the doorway, unable to cross the threshold. A face shifted in the black mist, fanged teeth gnashing and yellow eyes frantically rolling. That mouth grinned suddenly and howled, interweaving rage, defeat, triumph, and pure madness. Then, it was gone, the last of the First Enchanters creeping back into the depths into which it had entrenched itself to await the next hapless victim that foolishly ventured into her lair.

"Haldria," Hawke murmured and even as the trees engulfed them, they didn't stop running until the sun's light began to wane in their depth.


	10. Chapter 10

It took Hawke and Fenris a full day to reach the northern gate of Wycome. Once the feel of magic had stopped creeping along their skin, they had stopped to rest for a short while. Hawke, however, could not shake the sensation of unease that coldly flowed through her mind. Neither was she able to discern if that feeling was hers or if it was some lingering trace of the magic they had encountered in the Circle ruins. Choosing to ignore it for the moment, she instead focused her thought s on other matters. As she mulled over the previous night's events (because she could only assume that they had broken free of the tower the day after they had reached it based on the sun's position in the sky once they had come back to the surface), Fenris kept silent step beside her. They moved quickly through the woods, eventually breaking through the trees to see the welcome sight of Wycome's high walls to greet them.

As they passed through the great gates and into the busy Market District, Hawke took Fenris's gauntleted hand in her own gloved one, glancing over at him as they wove between wayfarers, hawkers, and wagons full of exotic goods.

"You will stay with me at the inn tonight? I am almost completely certain that the templars, and whoever else is pursuing me will have more assassins waiting in the city for me."

Fenris did not return her glance, sharply focusing his gaze on their surroundings, his green eyes flashing as they darted this way and that.

"You are more than likely right and I will stay for a time, but I cannot linger."

Briefly those emerald orbs strayed over her face, noting that it had turned slightly pale and drawn. The excursion into the haunted tunnels beneath the tower had taken a disturbing toll on her and Fenris was concerned that her body simply would not be able to handle another attack if she drew on the lyruim's power again.

"You need to rest for a few days and the safest way for you to accomplish that is for me to keep our enemies distracted and well away," he continued, "Though I have no doubts that you do not like that idea."

Her lips twisted into a wry smile as she nodded, then twisted her body so to avoid a large group of babbling noblewomen as they turned a corner in the street.

"Ever the pragmatist, but you are right, regardless, on all counts," she admitted as they resumed their trek, "It will also give me some time to study the notes I managed to stow away in our mad dash for survival."

She heard Fenris quietly chuckle as he withdrew his hand, the bright windows of The Unicorn's Prance coming into view. He touched a gentle hand to her hair once, a small smile softening his expression momentarily before taking his leave. She watched him melt into the shadows of a side street, and then strode through the open door of the inn, greeted by its warm scents and boisterous laughter of the patrons. Callie's voice boomed over the din of the common area as Hawke stepped inside, her tone a mixture of welcome and motherly chiding.

"Ye made it back, luv? Good to see ye again an' in one piece, yer rooms still the same as it were before, though I be up in a bit to draw ye a nice 'ot bath. Ye could use it, I wager," she called out, her hands full of so many mugs and plates that Hawke was uncertain just how she managed not to drop everything.

"Thank you, Callie, I'll go on ahead then. Could you bring up some sweet bread and a mug of mead in a bit? I'm famished!"

She had to call the order over her shoulder as she was already half way up the stairs, eager to begin combing through the papers she had recently procured with such difficulty. She could only hope the Maker would smile on her and make it worth all the trouble.

xxxx

Later in the evening, after a few hours of sleep and a thorough scrubbing of her body, Hawke seated herself on the thick, deeply blue rug in front of the fireplace, her pack open by her knee. Parchment, faded and yellow with age was strewn about her, though within easy reach. Picking one at random, Hawke began to meticulously read through the neatly scrawled, words.

_8:75 Blessed_

_We have recently discovered a side passage not on our maps. Gideon, our dwarven guide, was reluctant to lead us down the tunnel. He said if the mapmakers did not put I on the maps, then there was good reason. I managed to convince him, though, that for the sake of knowledge that we must press on into the unknown. Eventually, after raising the amount of gold he would receive upon completion of our expedition, he agreed. It has been two days since we ventured into this tunnel and a full week since we entered the Deep Roads. While I am not concerned about our supplies sustaining us even through the march back to the surface, the state of the knights does. Just yesterday I noticed that Ser Hamand, the newest initiate, has begun acting strangely. He speaks into the empty air, turning his head sharply to glare behind us though nothing is there but the ever present darkness. Ser Falstaff and Ser Krydin also seem to be hearing things. I, too, must admit that I hear snatches of a song that I cannot name, but when I stop to listen more closely, it fades away. Ser Jareth, the knight in command, has also seemed to take notice, but he seems more wary of me and my fellow mages than possible trouble brewing in his own ranks. I can only pray to the Maker that we discover what we seek and are able to return to Wycome soon._

Hawke read the journal entry with avid interest, tapping two fingers against her chin in deep thought. There was something not quite right here. Reaching into the leather satchel, she pulled out Galdoy's little book, again noting that the handwriting was exactly the same. Haldria had obviously written the journal entry, but how is it that a man several decades after the entire incident managed to write in the exact same manner as a woman that he probably never even knew? Deciding that further reading was needed, she turned her attention to a later entry.

_8:75 Blessed_

_We have found the ancient thaig, praise the Maker! It has taken many days of exploring, but Gideon lead us straight to it after returning from a scouting run. When I first moved through the opening into the large cavern, I must admit that I was taken aback by the strangeness of it. Upon first glance, the architecture is almost identical to that found in Orzimmar. However, with closer inspection, we could see subtle differences. The carvings, will geometrically designed and of marvelous craftsmanship, had small, flowing lines that curved and snaked about columns, along pathways, even through the grand statues that lined the walls of the cavern. They seemed erratic, without purpose or direction, almost as if a child had taken a chisel and etched them to his whim. We made camp since the first night of our discovery and I am rather reluctant to speak of the dreams that have been plaguing my sleep, even in this journal. I feel as though I am drowning in darkness, haunting notes echoing in my mind as I struggle, snippets of black music that whisper at the edges of my hearing. However, as I continue to search this old ruin for clues about the ancient dwarves' knowledge of lyruim, I can still hear the song, though faintly._

Hawke read the last few lines and shuddered. So this is when it truly began. She rifled through some of the other entries, briefly scanning over them as they described the search efforts, notations of significant discoveries to the expedition, a small catalog of items that they unearthed. However, near the bottom of that particular stack, she stopped suddenly.

_8:75 Blessed_

_The music is louder now. It seems to have found its own tempo in my mind after I found the idol. It is magnificent, too beautiful for words; I cannot describe it. It had been buried beneath a large pile of rubble in the far recesses of the thaig, like common trash! I still feel anger rip through me at the very notion of something so wondrous so mistreated! Ser Hammand was the first to place his hands on it, pulling from the rocks. Surprisingly, not a speck of dust or dirt marred its surface. However, when I asked the good knight to allow me a better look by holding it, he was rather reluctant. I can't say that I really blame him. It is something that seems meant to be worshipped and I can understand why the ancient dwarves revered it so. _

Her hand trembled as she read the words that sent chills tumbling through her body,. Hawke felt that same unease come slamming back into her mind, only stronger and she fought back the bile that rose in her throat. She passed a scanning glance over the remainder of the journal entries she had taken. Haldria's neat, concise grammar quickly deteriorated into ranting, but something else caught her eye. Scribbled in the margins of some pages, beginning with the earliest entry about the finding of the passage, were little lines that seemed almost scratched into the parchment. Hawke could also see that in the upper right hand corner of each page were four distinct lines that slashed jaggedly downwards, similar to the claw marks that she had seen in the alcove in the tower tunnels.

"What kind of monster did you unleash, Haldria?" she murmured to herself as she traced the marks with the pad of her thumb.

Setting the unsettling record aside, she instead picked up _Blood Mages of the Marches _again, slowly turning each page, clear eyes roaming over the words. Nothing in particular stood out until she neared the back of the small book. The very last sentence of the work stood out as if written in blood.

_Having discovered the purpose that should drive all of creation, he withdrew from the world, to seek further knowledge of that which he had come to desire above all else._

She read the words aloud as they struck a chord somewhere deep in her being. Beautifully written, but they did not fit into a historical account of blood mages. She put the book down, closing it gently, her mind spinning. Galdoy had evidently gone in search of information for his book and he must have come across Haldria's notes at some point. His description of events matches her journal too closely for him to never have seen them. He must have also had access to other records and accounts, but where had he acquired them? The templars may have given him something, but the dark suspicion that Hawke believed to be true was that Galdoy had come across the remnants of Haldria herself in the tower. He also seems to have survived the encounter. Did he also take a piece of Haldria with him when he left? Was that even possible? Hawke knew from her own experiences that some especially powerful mages could separate pieces of their souls and place them in certain trigger objects. Why would Galdoy have been that naïve or that foolish to take a part of the black madness that remained of the First Enchanter with him? The handwriting, the enigmatic way in which he ended his work, the evidence of his presence in the tower, all pointed to a deeper connection with the lyruim idol than she had initially suspected.

But what did she suspect, exactly? What answers had she found? Hawke had to admit to herself that the response was not many. At the most, she had speculations and vague probabilities, none of which would help her learn anything about controlling this newly discovered development in her relationship with the lyrium poison in her body. If anything was confirmed, it was that whatever kind of magic these idol or idols possessed, it didn't seem like anyone came through the experience alive, much less sane and functioning. She was going to have to search elsewhere and time was short. Her companions were in just as much danger as she was and they needed to be warned. She could send out messages, but she doubted that any would reach the others. Breathing deeply through her nose, Hawke mentally beat back the headache that was forming in the back of her skull.

She stood then and stretched, feeling her muscles twinge in protest. She had been sitting on her legs for far too long. Hawke carefully stacked everything in neat piles on the nearby desk. Feeling a shift in the air of the room, Hawke turned and saw Fenris leaning against the window, arms folded casually across his chest as he observed her.

"Did you lose the ability to open a door?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

The elf shrugged.

"You've obviously never bothered to learn how to lock anything" he replied.

Hawke merely laughed softly, her eyes distant and distracted.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Hawke?" he asked her, his gaze narrowed in suspicion. That particular look on her face rarely meant anything pleasant was on her mind, for either of them.

"I am thinking," she said after a moment, a decidedly wicked smile curving her lips, "that we need to pay the local Templars a visit."

* * *

**A/N:**

**I must apologize, my dear Readers, for not updating in the normal time frame, but life, as you very well know, tends to get in the way of creativity :(**

**Still, i hope you all continue to enjoy this story (this chapter in particular was a delight to write) and to leave me feedback, as it is most encouraging. Thank you all who have been keeping up with it, with patience, reviews, and love. Stay tuned, luvs!  
**

**with love,**  
**~Silvergryphon**


	11. Chapter 11

"You realize that this plan of yours is complete and utter madness?" Fenris dryly asked for the twentieth time, a few nights later.

"You realize that my sanity has been the center of debate amongst Free Marchers and scholars alike for nearly a decade now?" Hawke countered in a tone that was deceptively innocent.

She couldn't see his expression as he stood behind her, but she could feel the glare that he was currently focusing on the back of her head. They were swiftly moving across the sloped, tiled roofs that made up the majority of the Chanters Ward, so named because the Wycome Chantry and the headquarters of the Templars were located here. Both Hawke and Fenris had thoroughly explored the area, until they were confident they could move through the streets, alleys, and over the rooftops in absolute darkness. It had been tedious, but necessary. He had to admit, Hawke's plan, while extremely risky, was probably the only way she was going to find the answers she needed from the military arm of the Chantry. However, neither of them were exactly sure what she was looking for and that was what concerned him.

"You are certain we must do this?"

Hawke stopped, crouching on the very edge of one residence, the sound of children protesting their parent's bedtime requirement. She looked over at him as he came to rest beside her, her clear gaze sharp and narrow.

"We have gone over this more times than I care to count," she all but hissed, "If you want to back out now, then by all means, but _my_ life is on the line here and I must have answers in order to keep breathing. Is that a problem?"

He flinched at just how bitter she sounded, but he couldn't argue with that point, which was why he had even agreed to this foolish endeavor in the first place. His grip on the brittle tile of the roof tightened until the fragile square fractured under his hand.

"You know that it isn't," he ground out, emerald eyes flashing in the moonlight, "but I cannot help but be concerned about just how close we're going to be to the enemy. You're going to be spending more time in their midst than I. These people are out to kill you, Hawke. You can't expect me to approve of that."

They locked gazes for several heartbeats, neither willing to blink first. Finally, she nodded tersely then stood, backing up a few paces. Speeding silently towards the edge of the building, she leaped into the air, tucking her body into a ball and neatly somersaulting across the alley, using her momentum to tumble forward before finding her feet gracefully. Despite their harsh exchange, he found himself watching her lithe movements with rapt attention, a low heat beginning to burn in his blood. He followed her as she raced to the Templar compound, focusing intensely on where he planted his feet instead of just how beautifully wild she looked at that moment.

It was a short time later when they reached the outer wall of the enclosure. Fenris knelt beside Hawke, his eyes flicking briefly upwards to look at the waning moon.

"It's almost midnight," he murmured, loud enough so only she could hear him, "they'll be changing guard soon."

She bit her tongue, a sharp retort on the tip. Now was hardly the time for sarcasm. Instead, she nodded, shrugging her shoulder as she drew her longbow. She had left her normal one in her room at the Prance, a difficult decision. Reluctant as she was to part, even for a little while, from her beloved weapon, she needed range tonight, more than the short bow possessed. It had taken her more than one trip to the Market to find a suitable replacement, not to mention the special arrows she had requested at the bowyer stall. With care, she drew one of these arrows, testing its weight in her hand. It was light, but thick, able to withstand hard impact, yet travel a fair distance. She leaned over the side of the building, a narrow street the only distance between the roof they were on and the compound's defensive wall.

With dexterous fingers, she tied one end of a rope to its shaft and the other end she secured around the thick chimney protruding just to her left. Sending a silent thank you to the Maker that people so rarely looked up, she then drew another arrow, this one much shorter and heavier. She looked at Fenris, unable to hide her grin of anticipation. He merely quirked a brow, then shrugged, and slunk away to the right, blending in with the deep shadows. She counted silently, eyes darting back and forth over the perimeter of solid stone that the templars patrolled. By the time she reached fifty, the main gate's portcullis had started to creak upwards; the exchange had begun. She nocked the arrow and took a deep, steadying breath, aiming at the feet of one poor sod that was coming out of the gate.

_Twang!_

Smoke exploded on the cobbled street, sending the knights into fits of coughing and shouted confusion. One captain emerged, brandishing his sword and yelling commands. In mid sentence there was a gurgle and even from this distance, Hawke could see crimson spilling from his lips to pour down his chest. The man had the presence of mind to look shocked as he sank to the dusty street. The blue glow of Fenris's markings was like a beacon in the dark, a blurred line as he sped down the street away from her, leading the other templars on what was going to be a merry little chase through the district. Chuckling to herself, she aimed once again and fired straight at the wall opposite her, whispering a quick enchantment. The bolt flew and Hawke made a gesture with her finger, sending it spinning to the left. A few more swift motions and the arrow had tied the rope that had been attached into a neat knot around the rampart of her choice.

She didn't wait to see if it would hold her weight, instead lightly stepping across the narrow breadth twisting line, her arms outstretched for balance, a black shadow moving in the starlight. Stopping only to draw her long knife and slice through the rope, ensuring the secrecy of her presence for a few more precious minutes. She then ran to the right, following the curving of the wall. More men were entering the courtyard below and she fired another arrow. It skittered across the cobbled stones then burst into black smoke. Twisting her body, she fired once more, towards the outside the wall, into the alley, hoping that her ruse would continue to work. It seemed to, at that, as more knights rushed out of the gates, intent on discovering who had dared to attack them in the very heart of the city.

Lighting the end of another bolt as she slipped quietly down a flight of stone steps, she let it fly high into the air to burst into flames before raining colored cinders down into the enclosed yard. That would confuse them a bit; she really owed Varric a kiss for teaching her that little trick.

She stepped into the courtyard, careful to avoid the pools of torchlight by staying against the inner wall, her cloak wrapped tightly around her body. She was almost to the main building. It was a huge, sprawling structure, raised towers soaring into the sky, slits for bowmen to fire through instead of windows, and thick walls all gave the distinct impression of an inescapable fortress. The thought made her smirk; there wasn't a fortress on Thedas that could keep her out if she wanted in. It may be impossible to get out, but every single one of them could be infiltrated if someone cared enough to try.

She had just placed her hand on the door she believed led inside when it burst outwards, light pouring forth from inside the building. Muttering a colorful dwarven curse she had also picked up from the storyteller, she allowed herself to be flung back and behind the door, as a giant of a man stepped into the night air. His hair was closely cropped and iron grey. From what she could see peeping out from her hiding spot, the man was thickly muscled, the huge mace he held in one hand evidence enough of that. He carelessly lifted it to his shoulder, his rich voice booming across the compound loud enough to make Hawkes' bones rattle.

"Find the mages that are responsible for this! I want them captured alive, if possible and I want them now!"

Men scurried like mice who had just heard the serpent hiss in their den, scattering in every direction. Hawke happened to glance to her left and saw another bright explosion alight over several nearby rooftops.

"They're mocking me," she heard what she assumed to be the Knight-Commander growl. He must have turned his head, because his voice was now coming from more to the right.

"Find out if these mages are one of ours. If so, we are going to have a serious renegotiation of this arrangement. Make sure they understand the consequences if we find a single trace of their presence"

Hawke dared to look around the door once more. With a great rolling of his massive shoulders, he strode away, motioning for two knights to accompany him. Waiting for just a few breaths, Hawke slipped around the door, shutting it silently behind her. She leaned back against the wooden frame, trying to will her stampeding heart to slow down a little. That had been entirely too close.

"Watch out for that one, Fenris," she murmured, following it with a silent benediction for his safety. Maker's Breath, he had better return to her in one piece.

Forcing herself to regain focus, Hawke took in her surroundings as she processed what she had just overheard. The Commander's statement only confirmed what she already knew; the templars were indeed working in tandem with mages. Still, it seemed very odd that they would only be doing so to make sure she was disposed of. More than likely, both groups had their own, separate agendas where she was concerned. It was possible that the left hand was not seeing what the right one was up to, in which case she had a higher chance of survival. Her lips quirked; that was always a good thing. Still, better to find out what each one's intentions were rather than sit and wait for the blade, or fireball, in the dark.

Forcing herself to regain focus, Hawke took in her surroundings as she processed what she had just overheard. She was in some kind of hallway, the walls lined from one end to the other with doors. Pulling the hood of her cloak back, she moved from the door. There was no possible way to search every single room in the place and there wasn't a need to do so either. The Knight-Commander would probably have his office somewhere on the floors above. One could also assume that the templars' archives were also nearby; they were wonderfully practical like that. After a mental debate, she chose right, sticking her head into each room, seeking a way upwards. She discovered it after a few moments, a spiraling, narrow staircase that made her wonder exactly how the Commander with all that bulk managed to climb it. Well, looks could be deceiving, as she was well aware.

Hawke stopped at the base of the steps, listening intently for a brief moment; there were no footsteps to be heard, no sound except that of the crackling torches and the far off noises made by the hot pursuit of the 'mage' interlopers. The image that conjured had her chuckling all the way up to the next floor. This had to be the one that the Commander's office would be located on, more than likely near the back of the building; they would want it to be high enough and far enough to allow for it to be well protected, yet accessible to other parts of the complex. In fact, she suspected strongly, as she passed several doors and passageways, that this Commander in particular was one who would have a 'hands on' approach, so that meant he would want to be in a position to quickly move about.

Following that train of logic, Hawke wound her way through the halls, subtly tipping the corner of each rug over as she came across to mark her passage. When she came to a large set of double doors, she knew she had been right. She was somewhere near the floor's center in a large rotunda, the vaulted ceiling soaring far above her head. Beams laced overhead, the very ends coming to rest just above each doorway in an elaborate show of craftsmanship. Hallways spread out in every direction; the heart of the templar order in Wycome. One door stood ajar and she couldn't say that she was surprised. However, she used caution as she slipped through the slender opening, careful not to alter anything in order to avoid detection.

A monstrous desk squatted in the back of room, short, curved legs that were as ornately carved as the rest of it. Parchment was neatly arranged in separate stacks according to height. The other items on the desk, quills, inkwells, candles, all were arranged just so. Not even a speck of dust floated in the light that came from the richly fashioned fireplace. Despite these trappings of luxury and rank, little else occupied the room, not even a spare chair. The décor of the room was obviously not of the current Commander's choosing. On a hunch, she pushed against the desk, but it didn't even budge. Enchanted, as she had thought; it was also an indication that the drawers were also warded.

"Oh, joy," she muttered dryly, pulling out a well worn leather pouch from her belt.

She pulled the string, revealing a pale blue powder that softly glittered in the firelight. Tugging off a glove with her teeth, she dipped her finger into the dust, and then brushed the digit over each eyelid. Hawke then closed the bag and returned it to its place. The powder immediately had an effect, allowing her to pick out the wards placed over the desk easily. Maker bless Isabela for her not so legally devious mind and clever fingers! Hawke didn't want to know where the pirate had come across the dust, but it was the best birthday gift she had ever received.

Brightly colored circles floated over certain areas of the desk, convincing Hawke that these were very new. Either the Commander was a very cautious man or he had something very important to hide; probably both. She touched each ward in turn as it hovered with delicate fingers; Hawke was swiftly able to disarm all of them. By the time she had gone through most of the compartments, she had acquired several days' worth of notes and letters to sort out when she was safely back at the Prance. Satisfied that she had gleaned everything of value here, she stood straight and grinned. The entire process had taken her little more than maybe twenty minutes, but she still needed to find the room that held the templars' records.

The Commander would instantly know that someone had gone through his carefully organized desk, especially since she had ever so artfully strewn his reports all around the room. Not to mention that he would know who, she thought with a madly gleeful grin, when he sat down in his chair and saw the proud Hawke insignia gorgeously carved into the wood's surface.

She traced her handiwork with a soft touch, musing that she had perhaps taken her game a little too far when she heard voices in the hall just outside the door.

"Andraste's Bloody Flaming Knickers!" she spat, furiously looking around the office for a hiding spot.

The room was sparse, no furniture to speak of and there was no way she could effectively conceal herself under the desk. Desperate, she happened to glance up. The ceiling, like the rest of the structure's upper works, had several large beams. The voices were steadily drawing closer, leaving her no options. With agility she hadn't realized she possessed, she took a leap onto the desk, spun, and hopped over to the fireplace, her boots just barely touching the smooth, marble surface of the mantle. If she had bothered to look into the gilded mirror that hung against the chimney, she would have seen thin glowing lines erupting across her body. Instead, she chalked up her amazing rush of strength and dexterity to pure adrenaline. Throwing all her weight forward, she latched onto the rougher surface of the wall on both sides of the mirror, scrambling up and pushing off into air to twist and catch the nearest beam.

Hawke hung there for a moment, fingertips clinging to the wood, before she swung and pulled herself up, crouching on the narrow space just as the doors opened wide.

* * *

**A/N:**

**And here is chapter 11, my darlings! How Hawke manages to get into these situations, I'll never know ;)**

**Still, its a joy watching her do it. Hopefully Fenris will swoop in, but maybe she'll manage on her own? So, what's next, you ask? Well, some feedback please and I promise not to leave you hanging for longer than a day or two! Please enjoy the chapter and stay tuned, luvs!**

**~silvergryphon06**


	12. Chapter 12

"Tell the Captains that I want patrols out and scouring the city in the hour. And send someone to get Teran here on the double!" the massive Knight-Commander barked.

Hawke balanced carefully overhead, extending one leg to the side, then using its braced position to move the rest of her body, inch by slow inch, towards the center of the beam, almost directly above the Commander's head as he came around the desk. With a bang, he slammed both fists into the wood and remained there, head and shoulders bent, as if either in anger of in thought, the other men in the room obviously dismissed. Several minutes ticked by like hours, Hawke's muscles screaming in protest at her awkward pose. She couldn't see the doorway from this far back in the room, but, turning her gaze forward, saw several beams similar to the very one she so precariously perched on. Judging the distance, she swiftly calculated that she could hop them with ease. Counting, she tallied five beams in all, the very last one close to the far wall and the doors. Keeping her grip firmly about the wood, she silently reached into a pouch on her belt, closing a fist round a small, round canister.

Just then the doors burst open once more, two templars striding in with a tall, blonde man. Robes billowed loosely about a gaunt, narrow frame that Hawke could plainly discern from her vantage point. She removed her hand from the leather depths of the bag, the small object smooth in her palm. Thinking that this exchange may just be even more enlightening than here recent procurements, she stilled and listened intensely.

The thin man, his clothes and bearing giving him away as a mage, crossed his arms over his chest. Yet, as his stance was one of confidence, even arrogance, his eyes darted furiously about and Hawke noted how he wetted his lips often as he spoke.

"What's the meaning of pulling me from my warm bed at this hour, Harthus?"

Commander Harthus, his head still bowed, spoke evenly. However, the growl in his voice reverberated clear to the rafters where Hawke was hidden in shadow, making her shudder.

"I have summoned you, Teran, to get answers."

Teran tilted his head, licking his lips again. Hawke's own gaze narrowed. He was innocent in what he was about to be accused of, but he was most assuredly hiding something from his fellow conspirator.

"What kind of answers could you possibly need from me, my friend? I have done nothing but-"

"Exactly!" the Commander roared, one huge hand slamming down onto the desk, making the slighter man jump nearly out of his skin.

"Exactly," Harthus continued, more controlled, coming back around to stand before the desk, drawing his great frame up to its full height.

"You have embedded yourself in this fortress like a leech latches into flesh, Teran. We agreed that if you and your ilk would bring us the head of the Champion, who so boldly houses herself within the very walls of Wycome, that we would not seek you out when you departed."

He stepped closer to Teran, his speech surprisingly eloquent and his words seeming to be well measured. Even so, the chill that crept up Hawke's spine was nothing compared to what the unfortunate mage had to be feeling at that moment. Teran uncrossed his arms and let them hang loosely at his sides. He spoke again,

"And we told you that it would take time and diligence," he answered smoothly, seeming to be certain as to what this meeting was about.

"The Champion is cunning and strong. She has defeated everything we have thrown at her, including _your _hired Crow. It would not do to underestimate her, nor to expect miracles. Several other mages are out right now, preparing to issue more spirits. Just give us a little more time, Harthus, we will hold up our end of the bargain."

His voice was commendably steady, but Hawke knew that it wouldn't save him. His manner was one of guilt, and if she could see that, so could Harthus. The Knight-Commander's arms were also down, but she could see his fingers flicking against his thigh.

"It was not miracles I expected, Teran," Commander Harthus replied calmly as he drew his sword and separated the mage's head cleanly from his shoulders in one fluid motion.

"I expected treachery," he said, sheathing the weapon and chuckling, "and I am the traitor instead of you."

His gaze seemed to linger for a moment at the headless body crumpled on his floor, then his head snapped up once again.

"Dispose of this, then round up the rest of them. They may be useful yet."

Hawke felt sick, unable to tear her eyes away from the ghastly sight below. Every drop of blood on that floor was on her head. It was true, the man had every intention of killing her, but he had done it to guarantee the safety of his fellow mages. Swallowing down the bile that had risen in her throat, she gripped the small round metal ball in her hand as Commander Harthus resumed his place behind his desk. He sat down and stared into the fireplace, his massive girth almost too much for the chair to uphold. The knights wrapped the body of Teran, along with his head, into the rug on which he died, carrying it out the door between them.

She watched for a few moments, flexing her muscles in an attempt to loosen them for what she was about to do. As she lifted her hand, she saw the Commander turn his head and look down at the surface of his desk. His big body straightened with a jerk, obviously noticing its unruly state for the first time that night, He passed a hand over a drawer, leaning down in apparent scrutiny. He stood abruptly, his body trembling with what she could only assume to be rage and she grinned. So he had noticed her artwork. His face suddenly turned upwards and she locked eyes with cold blue ones, his face as hard as the stone that surrounded them. She met his stare, unflinching. She winked and placed a finger to her lips.

'Now you see me," she laughed as she tossed the ball down and into the fireplace, orange smoke filling the room upon its contact with the flames.

She heard him cough out a curse as she jumped from beam to beam, counting them because she couldn't see that well either. She reached four and allowed herself to drop through the air, using the momentum to tumble her forward and out the door.

As soon as her feet touched stone, she bolted, keeping her eyes focused on the floor at her feet. She found where she had turned the corner of one of the rugs and made a left, following her previously laid trail to the stairwell. She skidded to a stop, hearing the bellowing of the Knight-Commander behind her and the jostle of metal-clad knights coming up from in front. She ducked behind a hanging tapestry just as the troop of templars rushed up and past her.

Once the heavy tread of their boots faded down the hallway, she waited a few heartbeats then came out from behind the heavy fabric and sprinted down the stairs, drawing her long knife. When she came to the last door that stood between her and the outside, she burst through it and right into the middle of an entire courtyard full of templars, all now staring at her. It seems they were just as surprised to see her in their midst as she was.

She looked skyward.

"Is there a reason You make my life so damned difficult?" she asked scathingly.

She started to dash into the building again, but as she was backing up, she turned and ran into an extremely broad chest. She looked up and the Knight-Commander was glaring down at her. His hand moved so quickly, she couldn't react. He gripped her around her throat and lifted as she clawed at his vice-like grip, her long knife clattering to the ground beneath her dangling feet.

"I see you quite clearly, Champion Hawke," he rumbled menacingly, "and I intend to make you disappear in a much more satisfactorily manner than you just tried."

Blackness was beginning to dance at the edges of her vision as she struggled for air, her attempts to pry his fingers from around her airway becoming weaker. She could feel herself slipping into unconsciousness. But, somewhere unfathomable in her being, Hawke felt something flicker to life. It spiraled outwards, flowing into her limbs, her fingertips, crawling over her body like thousands of tiny insects. The sensation threatened to overwhelm her, but she fought hard and the feeling eased. It was willing to work with her, for the moment. This kind of death was not what either of them wanted for her.

The next few minutes were a blur. Her hands came down to rest at her sides and her eyes closed. The Knight-Commander was saying something, but she couldn't hear it past the roar of blood in her ears. With a jerk, her eyes snapped open, empty and emotionless as red lines began to glow across the skin of her face. She saw the Commander's eyes widen in shock as her hands struck, sending a blast of crackling energy straight into his chest. Het let her go and she landed lightly on her feet, watching dispassionately as he stumbled back with a grunt.

"Kill her," he ordered with a wheeze.

The other templars rushed in to attack her, but she didn't seem to notice. Instead, she pointed her hands down at the earth, arms extended slightly, and spun in a circle. There was a rumbling from somewhere deep in the ground, causing the men around her to hesitate. Commander Harthus grabbed the arm of the nearest knight and almost tossed him forward.

"I said kill her!"

Before the poor man could even take a step to obey, dirt exploded at Hawke's feet, forming into roiling spikes of stone and soil that struck up viciously, encircling her like a row of teeth. The templar that the Commander had pushed forward became a literal sacrifice, the sharpened point of earth bursting from the back of the templar's plate armor, sending a shower of grime, blood, and metal shrapnel behind his body as it sagged forward. The spike retreated back to its original position.

"Would anyone else care to try?" she asked, her voice deep and resonating with power, the lines on her face pulsing with each word.

The Knight-Commander drew his weapon and yelled something unintelligible, but his troops seemed to gather their courage and pushed forward once again, the fear of their Commander greater than that of Hawke. She threw back her head and laughed, but it sounded more like a howl. The earthen ring surged up and out, striking at the first wave of templars. Hawke directed them, without mercy and without pity, her face twisted into a ferocious expression that resembled nothing human.

As more knights and recruits charged, she quickly changed tactics, extending her arms out, palms up, fingers spread. Then, she pulled them up above her head and looked up. Black clouds suddenly churned overhead, rolling over the fortress as if summoned. With a purely maniacal grin, she brought her arms back down in a chopping motion and water poured from the sky, turning the hard-packed ground into mud. Templars across the yard began slipping, tripping over their own as they struggled to maintain their feet.

Hawke laughed again at their pathetic attempts before twisting her right hand and its fingers in a serious of complicated gestures. Then, bringing her hand to her face, as if blowing a kiss, white mist seeped from her lips, sending a frost slithering over the dirty puddles, instantly icing over the water that had slicked over the knights. Many of them froze in their tracks, their skin turning a horrifying shade of blue. The Commander was also feeling the effects of Hawke's spell, unable to stop his body shivering in his armor. The rain had turned to sleet, causing the ground to become even more slippery.

Deciding that she had had enough fun for the night, red markings flaring, Hawke allowed the ring of spikes to recede back into the earth, striding confidently through the chaos of the embattled templars, the glacial mud reforming back into solid ground beneath her feet. The clouds that had formed in the night sky quickly dispersed, leaving an empty blackness in their wake. As she moved through the ranks of templars, she stopped only to dip a gloved finger into the water. Hawke turned and looked towards Harthus.

"Really, Commander, you ought to take better care of your men," she called, sending a large bolt of crackling lightning straight through the streams of water that flowed across the churned yard. It flowed and struck every single unfortunate plate wearing templar, including Knight-Commander Harthus.

Hawke stood once more and trotted towards the gate, the smoking, charred scent of electricity and burnt flesh. She hadn't let loose enough to kill, but they had felt quite the jolt. That'll teach them to wear metal armor when dealing with a magic-user.

She could hear the raging fury of Commander Harthus's booming voice getting further away as she wove through the magically harassed knights. As she walked under the great portcullis gate, she turned left then ducked into a nearby alley, nimbly finding handholds in the cracking walls, the angry red lines fading back into her normal complexion.

Clambering onto the roof, she was easily lost from view, simply evaporating into the night. Though she had escaped, barely, and had even managed to hold some semblance of control over the idol's fusion with her own inherent magic, the effort had cost her much. She was exhausted and she doubted that she would make it back to the inn before she collapsed. The closer to the Market District she got, the more the clamor from the fortress faded.

As she climbed down from the roofs and her feet touched cobbled pavement in a different alley, only a few streets away from the Prance, she was grabbed from behind. There was a flash of blue as she was practically slammed into the wall, her arms effectively pinned by hard gauntlets.

"What the bloody-," she didn't get to finish as someone's lips caught hers in a bruising kiss.

She broke away as green eyes bored into hers.

"If you ever do that again, I'll-"

"Greet me in exactly the same manner?" she finished with a cheeky grin.

"You're lucky I don't turn you over my knee," he growled, too relieved that she was alive to stay angry at her.

She opened her mouth to reply, but then her legs finally couldn't hold her up anymore and Fenris realized it had been sheer willpower that had been holding her up this long. He caught her up in his arms in a smooth motion.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and snuggled her face into the crook of his neck.

"That makes a better image than what I saw tonight," she murmured sleepily as he carried her towards the inn like she weighed nothing.

He looked down at her briefly as he walked. He made a quick series of conclusions in his head and decided to ask her later.

He glanced down again, intending to make a smart reply, but she had already drifted off into a light sleep. Setting his lips against her hair in a light kiss, he whispered something to her, the tone of his voice gentle in a way that most people would have never believed him capable, except Hawke. He shook his head as she smiled and his own mouth quirked upwards.

"Maker, but you are nothing but trouble," he muttered fondly, for once not minding the warmth that nestled in his chest when he held her.

* * *

**A/N: Well, luvs, here is Chapter 12! I will probably come back and edit this one, it feels incomplete somehow (ugh).  
**

**Anyhoo, feedback is always welcome and loved, enjoy the read, and stay tuned!**

**~silvergryphon06**


	13. Chapter 13

_She was standing in a dark, round room. How she knew it was round was a mystery because the blackness around her was absolute. The stone beneath her bare feet was cold, chilling her up to the very roots of her hair. Every now and again, she could see a flicker of red at the edges of her peripheral vision, but every time she turned to look at it fully, it disappeared. A soft humming seemed to drift past her in a nonexistent breeze, in a voice that called to her sweetly. Yet, when she stepped forward to answer its summons, she was back in the same spot. Suddenly, with a huge whoosh of air, she felt something behind her._

_Hawke whirled around, her eyes unable to penetrate the darkness, but she knew that whatever it was, was unmistakably evil. She tried to bolt, tried to will herself to any place but there, but she was as stuck as her previous attempts. Something like a giant clawed hand clamped around her jaw, lifting her off the ground and shaking her like a child's doll, her body going limp with the fury of the assault. It's grip tightened around her throat, another hand snaking its way to squeeze her closer into its freezing embrace. Another few seconds and she would be crushed-  
_

Her eyes burst open, her lips already parted to scream, but it just came out in a whimper. Cursing inwardly as she tried to even her breathing, she banished the memory of the night terror to the farthest corner of her mind, unwilling to confront it so soon. It was the first nightmare in weeks, but by far the most terrifying. Her only conclusion was that the idol's magic was tightening its hold over her. If she didn't find some method of at least merging with it to make it hers completely…well, the consequences would be terrible, indeed.

Hawke looked over at Fenris, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. This was probably the first time had slept at all in several days. She stilled so as not to disturb him. Unable to return to sleep herself, she chose to wait silently for dawn.

xxxx

Hawke lay awake as the sunrise bathed the room in its pale light, rosy tendrils of sunlight chasing away the previous night's darkness. Fenris lay beside her, bare from the waist up, one long arm draped across her midriff. For a few moments, she enjoyed the warmth of his body so close to hers, but her mind simply would not allow her a moment's peace. Yesterday had been highly informative, to say the very least. Gently sliding out of her lover's sleeping embrace, she stood and stretched, padding silently on bare feet across the chilly wooden floor. Poking the fire to warm the room a bit, she then moved to the desk.

The papers she had managed to procure, a word she strongly preferred to stole, were damning to the templars, certainly, but they held little else of value. Correspondence, records of monetary exchanges, contracts, but nothing about Haldria or the Circle. Yet, as she spread the letters and sheets of parchment in front of her, something did indeed catch her eye.

_The source of our information has proven quite useful, for the moment. It is my recommendation that we continue to utilize their knowledge to further learn of the Champion and how best to approach her. I await your instructions._

_Knight-Captain Drathan_

The message was simple, but cloaked. The "approach" mentioned had a thinly veiled meaning, but what was more disturbing was that someone had given them information about her. Someone who was at least familiar with her mode of thinking and it was a very small group of individuals that really understood it. The implications were terrifying. She had always trusted her companions implicitly, without question, especially after what had happened with the Arishok.

One's first instinct was to wonder how much coin could have bought Isabela, but she immediately dismissed it. When the impossible had occurred and the pirate had returned to actually help her instead of saving her own skin, Hawke had known that she was more trustworthy than all the others, even before Fenris or Bethany. It had also proven just how far her friends had been willing to go to help her. But would one of them turn to the templars in a misguided attempt of assistance? Her lips twisted into a deep frown; who could be so foolish after their deeds in Kirkwall?

"I take it that you've received good news," she heard the aforementioned elf grumble tiredly from behind her, obviously haven seen the tense set of her body as she read the letter.

She turned with the terse note still in her hand. He had sat up and she took the opportunity to stare at him unabashed. The sheet pooled just below his leanly muscled stomach and Hawke let her eyes trace the patterns of his markings up his torso slowly. She drank in the sight of him till her eyes finally fastened on his highly amused green ones. They shared a quiet chuckle and he held out a hand to her. She stepped back towards the bed as he scooted to the ledge, throwing his lanky legs over the side and she placed her hand in his offered one. He pulled her closer, wrapping her arms around his neck while his entwined themselves about her slender waist.

The note fluttered to the floor, momentarily forgotten as she leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Good morning," she murmured, running her fingers through the silky white strands of his hair. He gave her a crooked smile.

"Good morning, indeed," he replied, pulling her back down to nuzzle against her neck, before giving it a light nip.

Before he could get any real ideas, Hawke moved back, scooping the little piece of paper up off the floor and handing it to him. As much as she would love to have him ravish her this morning, there were more pressing issues. She bit back the sigh that was bubbling up; it seemed that pressing issues were her life story.

"Read this and tell me if it strikes you as it did me," she said, turning away from her inner musings momentarily to stand by the window and look out over the city.

Silence followed her statement for a while as he considered the note. The stone and wooden buildings were bathed in oranges and purples, reflecting the bright colors of the clouds overhead. Cries from deep in the District echoed up to her vantage point, merchants and hawkers rising early to begin their day. The marching, clanking step of the Wycome Guard clattered from below in the street as they passed by on patrol. Just at the edge of her vision, she could make out the changing of the guard on the walls. The musty scent of leather, the crispness of the dew, and the earth beneath it all, drifting up from the inn's yard and stables filled her nostrils pleasantly, but she noticed none of it. She stared out across the city's expanse without really seeing it, her mind far away.

Only someone who knew Hawke intimately could have guided the templars to her and that thought was enough to chill the Champion of Kirkwall to her very core. The idea that one of her closet friends could betray her in such a way was almost unthinkable, yet what other explanation could there be? She had little to do with the templars in Kirkwall, save for the odd mission or two, but those knights had stood by her against Meredith, therefore they had little desire to hunt her down.

The Knight-Commander had supporters, though, even after all she had done came to light. Tradition and discipline were two exceptionally hard masters, and many of the knights just could not believe that a servant of the Chantry could have done what Meredith had been accused those were altogether different than the templars that chased her now. Unfortunately, there was little proof left of her inclinations and machinations once the dust had settled. The other knights still loyal to her had seen to that.

These people wanted her dead and soon. And they were willing to employ any method to do so. As mages across Thedas were now openly revolting, her death would be like cutting the head off the snake in some minds, enough perhaps to quell the rebellion. It was unlikely; Hawke had merely been the spark that had sent the entire, already crumbling, system spiraling into flames. Time had been of the only import and she had to admit that she had played a major part in hurrying the process along. What that would mean for the world as a whole remained to be seen.

"More than one person has been burnt severely, if they're hunting you down this viciously," Fenris commented dryly. She _really_ had to stop thinking out loud.

"It would seem that way," she quietly agreed before looking back at him, normally clear gaze troubled.

"Fenris, do you think that I've sold out one of our friends in some way that they're willing to break trust? Would I have known if I had?"

He shook his head emphatically.

"You've never shown any of us anything but loyalty, Hawke. If one of them did go to the templars, it was out of that same loyalty, mistaken though that view might have been. I can't see why one of them would think mostly all of them possess more intelligence than that. Even Anders-" he stopped short.

Hawke felt all the color drain from her face even as her eyes widened. She began to shake her head vigorously, her mind spinning, and she lifted a clammy hand to her forehead. Suspicion was one thing, but putting a name and face to the informant was an entirely different matter and it shook her deeply.

"No, there's no possible way Anders would have given me away to the templars! He hates them more than anyone else," she pointed a trembling finger at him, "Even you just said that there's no plausible reason…"

She trailed off, glaring at him, daring him to contradict her, but he wasn't fazed in the least. Instead, he rose and strode over to her, forcing her to tilt her head back just a little to keep eye contact.

"The damned fool's in love with you, Hawke," he ground out, eyes glittering dangerously at the admission. "You've known that for years and you still chose me, though Maker help me, most days I don't know why."

She was still shaking her head, unwilling to entertain the notion any longer. If she stopped trusting now, how would she survive? She was good on her own, but she needed friends now more than ever. She struggled to find some answer that would clear the doubts plaguing her mind.

"But doesn't that mean he would just be more determined to hide me? He managed to avoid them for almost a decade, Fenris, why would he turn to them now?"

She knew there was logic in what she was saying, but Fenris's eyes never faltered in their stony stare.

"What better way to find you? They have the resources and contacts he doesn't. In turn, he gets to not only know where you are, but he more than likely intends to keep them from you at the same time. How, I have no idea, but it makes sense, does it not?"

"No, no it doesn't, Fenris, none of this does!"

She had raised her voice, soft red lines beginning to slither across her skin. Panic was threatening to overwhelm her, along with a surge of rage that was more the idol's than her own. Coupled with the knot of dread that was writhing in the pit of her stomach and the idol's magic was on the verge of consuming her. Fenris grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

"Use your head, Hawke," he thundered, making the whirling in her brain stop for a moment before he resumed in a quieter tone,

"As much as I dislike the bastard, I doubt he did this with malicious intent. But we can't do a damned thing about it until you get a handle on the idol's power. Look at yourself, Hawke."

He turned towards the small, square mirror hanging on the wall above the wash basin. She could see them, crawling over her skin like crimson veins, so faintly did they glow. Even as she watched, her emotions raw, they faded from view. Fenris touched a gentle hand to her hair, his brow furrowed in concern.

"You have to control it, Hawke," he murmured. "You're treading a dangerous path and I fear that you may lose yourself in the process."

She met his eyes in the mirror, opening her mouth to ask, "What if that is what I have to do in the end?"

Fenris let his hand slide down to wrap around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"It won't come to that. You've overcome so much. Your life has been hanging in the balance since you stepped foot in Kirkwall. How is this any different?"

All she could manage was nod in acknowledgment tiredly because there was a soft knock at the door. Fenris released her as she padded over to open the door. She wasn't expecting to see the man on the other side.

She couldn't quite decide if the Maker was trying to help her or merely toying with her these days.

"Good morning, Hawke," the amber-eyed mage greeted her quietly.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, good ole chapter 13. Plot thickenings, twists, and the ever present sensual Fenris brooding in the corner, bwahaha!**

**As per usual, feedbacks are welcomed and adored! Read and enjoy, my beloved readers, and the next installment will be up soon!**

**~silvergryphon  
**


	14. Chapter 14

_**A/N: Hello all! I'm so sorry about not updating in so long, but I just finished my first semester in grad school and I haven't even had time to breathe, much less write outside of school-related projects. But, I'm back and ready to move forward with this story to the bitter end! I hope you will still leave me some feedback, let me know your thoughts, hopes, secret desires for the sexy elf we all know and love, etc and enjoy! *Huggles all around***_

_**P.S. Reposted and edited, as promised!**_

_**~silvergryphon**_

* * *

Hawke stood in the doorway, honestly debating on whether to respond to that or not. Of course, it was the standard greeting, spoken with the correct inflections in order to convey a meaning of genuine well-wishing and a pleasure at seeing her at that moment. And yet, there was trepidation in Ander's golden eyes, a hesitancy, and expectancy, concerning just how she was going to answer. Shutting the door could be considered an answer, if she cared to make the slight effort of pushing it closed. Ultimately, her choice was nothing out of the ordinary.

"It depends entirely if one believes in such a thing," she finally replied, resting her forearm on the door as she cocked a hip, tilting her head as she spoke.

Ander's brows furrowed.

"Pardon?"

"A good morning can only occur when someone cares to have one. Since I've lost my belief in even good days here recently, having a good morning seems highly unlikely."

Without bothering to wait for him to muddle his way through that, Hawke just opened the door wider and padded back into the room, hearing first the door close with a soft creak, then the mage's slower footfalls behind her. Her eyes flickered to Fenris, who was merely leaning back against the headboard of the bed, his long legs stretched out before him. Despite being in such a pose, he hardly looked relaxed, green orbs flashing briefly. Hawke opted to hop back and sit on the desk, her slender legs dangling over the edge and lightly swinging back and forth, her hands propped on either side of her hips.

Anders stood near the center of the room, his eyes lifting from their intense study of the rug his feet currently occupied to scrutinize the fireplace, then darting over and taking note of the white-haired elf.

"I see you found her after all," he said quietly, nodding in Fenris's direction.

"I see you've managed to lower yourself even further than I gave you credit for in your attempt," was the scathing answer.

Hawke shot him a glare as Anders practically wilted under the comment, rubbing the back of his neck and taking a deep breath. Without another word, Fenris swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rose. In a few breaths, he had picked up his onyx armor and was out of the window. Anders watched him leave before letting his gaze return to the floor.

"I suppose I deserve that."

Hawke pulled her legs up until they were neatly tucked beneath her, cupping her chin in both palms as her elbows rested on her thighs.

"I suppose you do," she said mildly.

"Andraste's flaming sword, Hawke, what did you expect me to do?"

The words seemed to explode out of him, taking both he and Hawke by surprise, the latter jerking back. She recovered quickly, however, her voice sharp.

"You could have been helping keep my sister safe, for one thing. She's as much an apostate as you are, and less experienced in dealing with the wrong side of the templars. She needs someone there for her more than I ever have," she retorted harshly, eyes narrowing to slits.

Anders opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off.

"Or perhaps you could have opened another clinic. There are more than enough people out there who need aid, medical and otherwise, Anders."

His pleading amber eyes met hers briefly before his shoulders slumped. Hawke's voice softened a little,

"Oh, Anders…why the templars, of all things?"

He didn't answer right away, one hand rising to grip the other arm tightly, his head bowed. Pity and affection mingled as she looked at a man she had once known as her friend and she unfolded her body to stand near him. Gently, she touched his back with her fingertips, and that small contact seemed to break something within him. He lifted his head to finally look her in the eye and let out a shuddering breath.

"I thought it was the easiest way to find you. They have a network of contacts across the Free Marches that I could never acquire, even if I had the time to start."

As he spoke, he straightened, as if the words he uttered had the righteousness that he needed to believe in to justify his actions.

"I _needed_ to find you, Hawke," his whispered as his eyes searched her face, his hand lifting to cup her cheek in a hesitant caress.

She pulled her head back, out of his reach and Anders withdrew, letting his hand fall limply to his side.

"You need to let me go," was her quiet answer. It was obvious that he knew in what way she meant.

"I suppose I do," he said, echoing her earlier statement. The mage seemed to have acknowledged something within him even as he spoke the words. He raised his hand once more, as if one last attempt at contact, regret clearly reflected in his tawny eyes. Hawke looked at him quizzically, lifting her own hand to touch his briefly, an acceptance that needed no words.

* * *

Without warning, the door that had been firmly shut burst into fiery splinters with a thunderous clap. Hawke shielded her face with her forearms, coughing on the acrid smell of charred wood and metal as scorching hot splinters sizzled against the exposed flesh of her arms and legs. The blast made her stagger and she felt gauntleted hands suddenly grip her arms tightly then twisted them behind her back viciously, just as she had been reaching for the dagger hidden near the small of her back. Hawke shook her head roughly, trying to clear the ringing from her ears, pulling at the grip that held her, but she only managed a wrenched shoulder for the trouble. She turned her head and saw that several Templars had managed to infiltrate the little room, their drawn swords gleaming an angry red in the firelight. There was pressure along her spine, then a clang, followed by two more and Hawke knew they had found her hidden dirks and discarded them. As the dust settled, she blinked rapidly as she swung her gaze around, crystalline eyes meeting the cold blue one of the Knight-Commander of Wycome, flames licking at the giant mace he casually swung over his shoulders.

No, she did not believe in good mornings at all.

"Sirrah Hawke," he rumbled the greeting coolly, brushing past the obviously surprised apostate.

"You said you would not harm her," Anders hissed through clenched teeth, cerulean glowing from his eyes as Justice surfaced.

His fingers twitched and Hawke recognized the familiar gestures of a spell. Before she could open her mouth, however, the Commander had pivoted on his boot, striking the mage with a hard crack across his cheek with his club-like weapon and Hawke unmistakably heard the sickening crunch of the bones breaking at the contact. She jerked forward, lips pulled back in a snarl that would have made even Knight-Commander Meredith pause, but Harthus ignored her. He grunted to himself as Anders' limp body flew across the room, hitting the wall and Hawke winced as his skull connected with the hard wood before crumbling in a heap.

"That hardly means you have the right to open your mouth, Abomination," the giant of a man replied to the unconscious healer before returning his attention back to the Champion.

"And I personally have no intention of harming the Champion, though I can't exactly make guarantees about events during my absence."

The glint in his eyes had a cold leaden serpent slithering in the pit of Hawke's stomach. She refused to give it any ground, however, sliding her feet apart to a better balanced stance as the grip on her arms tightened enough to shift her equilibrium. The lyruim coursing through her body keened a protest in the back of her mind. It was perfectly content with allowing her to be captured.

And captured she was. The Knight-Commander jerked his head and the Templars that had immediately seized her gave her a shove, wrenching her arm painfully and Hawke bit her cheek hard to keep from reacting, tasting the coppery metallic of blood. They marched her past their massive superior, his icy gaze following them as they moved through the door. She heard a shuffling noise behind her and assumed that they had picked up the knocked out Anders. She tried to turn her head to get a look, but the Templar, a clean-shaven, green-eyed young man, shoved her forward roughly as they began the descent down the backstairs, almost making her trip. She muttered under her breath a curse in Tevinter, something Fenris had said to her on more than one occasion.

With swift movements, they were in the back alley, several knights on every side of her. They obviously did not intend to underestimate her again.

_The more we work together, the shorter my lifespan becomes_, she thought grimly, directing her comment to the foreign presence she felt in a dark corner of her mind, her brow furrowing in a mixture of desperate concentration and irritation. Her body was screaming at her to fight or flee, whichever came first. They moved steadily through the winding streets of the Market District, moving ever closer to the Templar Keep. Hawke glanced up as they rounded a corner and her quick eyes noticed a flash of blue dart between the rooftops, making her lips curl into a wry smile.

The sentient part of the idol's influence seemed to finally have accepted her argument as she caught sight of another bright cerulean flash and Hawke felt a surge of power, staggering again with the force of it as it flowed through her blood with a rush of it howling in her ears and the Templars holding her were pulled forward by the force of her misstep. Faint crimson lines spiraled over her skin, a maniacal grin twisting her lips into an expression that was ugly and feral. No one seemed to have noticed, however, their collective gazes carefully scanning the numerous streets and alleyways they passed on their trek. The magic abated somewhat, waiting. The air shifted as they turned a corner in their march and the knights halted, clearly able to sense the thickness of magic clogging the atmosphere and Hawke could feel that it was more magic than just her own. Several Templars unsheathed their weapons, seeming uneasy and wary. Hawke glanced up once more and she spotted another glimmer, this one white, like sunlight reflecting on metal.

She heard a click, and then bolts suddenly began raining from the sky with a whoosh, piercing knights all around her. The crimson veins on her flesh suddenly flared brilliantly to life and she felt her blood roar to life in a tide of magical power. Strength flooded her limbs and she rolled her shoulders, twisting her waist and digging in her heel. Her elbows shot back, jabbing into a steel breastplate, but she felt nothing. There was a sharp grunt and a pop as the force of the blow sent the Templar behind her reeling.

"That, sirrah," she said as she flexed her hands, "was for ruining what was shaping up to be a decent day."

Her hands free, she spun, fingers gesturing in a complex pattern that she was only half aware of and only knowing that the knowledge was not her own. Energy sizzled along her fingertips before she shot them upwards, bolts rocketing from her outstretched digits to flare and crackle, falling in a deadly shower onto the unfortunate knights immediately around her.

She dimly heard a shout and turned back around, spotting more than one familiar figure charging in her direction. How the bloody hell Fenris had managed to get them all here was a mystery for a later time. Speaking of the darkspawn, he dropped easily from the rooftop of the left side of the street, impaling a female Templar with his sword through her chest as shemaneuvered to look above her. Her combat senses were not enough and he wretched it free, not bothering to even see if she had survived the assault. Steel clashed against steel, sparks cascading down the massive blade that connected with another knight's sword as he attempted to outflank him from the right. With a heave of his lean shoulders, Fenris parried, his sword circling the other to thrust forward past the young man's defenses and sink into his gut. The Templar cried out and the elf pulled back with a swift motion before raising his arms again to lop off the poor man's head with a mighty swing.

Hawke turned her attention to her immediate left and saw Sebastian dart through the confusion towards her, a bow in each hand. She grinned broadly and deftly caught the bent wood as he tossed it to her lightly, skidding to a stop at her side. The glow of her skin blazed once more as soon as her hands touched the polished finish, thankful that the blue-eyed archer had pilfered it from the fallen templar who had had it in their possession. The look of disbelief she expected from the prince as red lines tattooed her body never came and she had little time to linger on her surprise. She could see Isabela and Merril fighting further up the street, hard pressed. Flicking her wrist, she drew the string taut, a burning line of power tracing itself into the shape of an arrow. Whispering the familiar enchantment she took aim and fired.

The shot was true and she brushed her fingers through the air as the bolt struck a knight in the back, slicing through her armor like water. It twisted and sunk through its next target, vanishing as it cut deep into the man's chest. She lowered her hand then and took another look about, surveying the narrow battlefield. Most of the Templars lay dead at their feet or dying. The angry red veins that snaked over her flesh faded and she swayed on her feet. Sebastian, who had been nearest to her, quickly caught her arm, helping her remain upright.

"We need to get you out of the city," he told her, his usually handsome face marred by the trickle of blood that trailed down his cheek from a nick that bled just above his right eye.

"I believe that's a little obvious, my friend," Hawke returned with a wan smile, eliciting a chuckle from the Chantry raised prince. She saw Fenris and the others picking their way towards her and felt a swell of relief wash through her as she met the gaze of her younger sister, alive and well.

"It's good to see you all again. I suppose I ought to apologize for rushing off the way I did," she said sheepishly, leaning on Sebastian's convenient arm for support.

"Well, at least to Bianca, my dear Hawke. She was highly displeased with you for a week. You can't believe what I had to do to calm her down," Varric teased, coming from around Bethany to get a better look at their Champion.

"I probably could, though I doubt I'd like to imagine it at the moment," was the dry response and there was a mutual chuckle.

"Would anyone?" a voice called weakly and Hawke turned her head to see Anders half walking, half carried by Merril, whose slender body was almost doubled over under the mage's heavier frame.

"You might, Blondie. I've heard about your shocking adventures in the Pearl," the dwarf quipped and Hawke placed a weary hand to her forehead. At least some things never changed.

Fenris came to stand on the other side of her and she slipped her fingers between his gauntleted ones, giving them a soft squeeze before releasing them. She met his sidelong glance and nodded. With a swift motion, he reached into a pouch on his belt and produced a small vial of stamina potion, which he placed in her open palm. She drank it quickly, shuddering at the bitter taste lingering on her tongue. The elf then tossed a larger bottle of red liquid to the two mages, Merril helping Anders sip the vile healing solution with a sympathetic grimace. Hawke frowned at the healer, tilting her head. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. Still, they were going to have a very long chat before this was all said and done with, none of which was going to be pleasant. Her glance at Fenris told her that his thoughts were running in a similair vein. Pushing it to back of her mind, Hawke turned to her sister. For now, her focus was needed elsewhere.

"Anyone else is going to have to heal on the move. We need to be outside the gates long before sunset."

With that, she straightened and strode in the direction the Templars had been leading her, trusting that the others would be right behind her. Bethany trotted up beside her, her slightly shorter stature making her walk much faster to keep up with her siblings pace. Hawke turned a corner, leaving the morning sun's rays at her back and striking for the westward gate.

"Where exactly are we going, sister," the younger Hawke inquired, Fenris loping up to flank the elder sister's other side.

"We are going to find a way into the Deep Roads," Hawke said firmly, her gaze as hard as tempered steel as it flickered to meet the emerald one of her lover. She was tired of the constant dead ends. It was time to go back to the start of the entire mess. Fenris seemed to understand the implication behind her expression and shrugged, the corner of his lips twitching in what could have passed as a smile.

"I enjoy following you," was the simple reply.


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: Reposted after slight editing. Seriously, if no love is showed for the return of this story, I will make something very bad and nasty happen (I have that power *insert wicked laughter here*) Fenris, stop looking at me like that...it makes me insides turn to goo.**_

_**Fenris: I care little for the state of your insides.**_

_**Me: *Sniffles* That hurts...**_

_**Fenris whispers something and I brighten considerably, skipping off to find pen and paper.**_

* * *

For two long, tedious days, they marched, stopping only for brief periods of light sleep and watchful glances over their shoulders. The tingling sensation that had settled between Hawke's shoulders after their encounter with the Templars had not let up, leaving her uncomfortable and wary. Harthus was not a man who would idly sit and let her waltz right out of his clutches, especially not after all the damage she had caused. He had other mages at his disposal as well, not to mention the assassin he or another Templar had hired to put her out of their misery. Varric and Isabela had sat down next to her the second night of their flight from Wycome. She still had the old maps Anders had given her all those years ago and had decided their best course was to steer as far north and east as they could, making for the closest entrance into the Deep Roads. The quicker they went underground, the better. The Templars still had no real idea about the idol's magic or what her plans were for the immediate future. A discussion with Anders had convinced her that he had not given them that information, though what he had spoken of was damaging enough.

The dwarf's usually dancing brown eyes were troubled, deeply so, and Isabela's pouty lips were tight, concern wafting over her coppery features. Hawke looked up from the shaft of wood she had been fletching.

"Out with it, you two. I'm too damned tired to play any guessing games," she said, the curl of her lip taking any sting out of her words.

But Varric and the pirate did not seem to appreciate the gesture, their exchange of glances evidently an unspoken conversation. It seemed that Isabela had lost whatever bet they made concerning who was going to be the one to tell her.

"Hawke…we spent a lot of time along the coast, and in several taverns. There was this one wench that had hips like-"

"Isabela!" Hawke's sharp rebuttal cutting the other woman off before she could sidetrack any further, causing the lovely pirate to sigh heavily.

"Fine, have it your way. We heard some rumors and we did a little digging and…the Chantry's put a bounty on your head. One hundred sovereigns to whomever brings your lovely locks to the nearest Chanter," she spoke in a rushed breath, clearly desiring to just get it out and done with.

"What?" Hawke almost screeched, making the both of them of her companions flinch. "On what grounds?"

Varric scowled. "What grounds do you think, Hawke? Squashing their petunias in a fit of broody pique?"

Cursing colorfully in a number of languages, Hawke stood, assuming a maniac pace around the small campfire she had allowed them to light. She kicked dirt into the flames in her frenzied tramping, making them spit and crackle angrily, the sounds echoing the turn of her thoughts.

"Andraste's great flaming arse, what makes them think they can just kill me and stop a bloody revolution? I didn't tell the mages to revolt. I didn't singlehandedly bring down the Templar Order across the face of Thedas! Maker's Breath, I didn't even _want_ to kill Meredith, just make her see reason and step down. And that makes me a criminal worth spending- how much did you say it was?"

"A hundred shiny sovereigns," Isabela piped up helpfully.

"Exactly," the Champion said, resuming her pacing and her rant. "I've put down every threat every thrown at me and-" she paused, whirling on her heel to face the other two and they cringed at her narrowed glare. "The Divine sanctioned the bounty?"

Warily glancing at one another, they nodded in unison.

"Great, just bloody marvelous," she spat, throwing up her hands, her tone as bitter as the healer's potions, crimson faintly glowing along her skin. "It's just what I always wanted for my birthday; to be hunted down like a malificar in the Wilds."

It was to their misfortune that the others returned from hunting, Anders at the fore. Fenris tensed immediately, sensing danger as his eyes traced the slender form of his lover and clearly saw red spiraling across the breadth of her arm. None of the others had noticed yet, her proximity to the fire masking the red glow of her flesh.

"Anything exciting happen while we were gone?" Merril asked brightly, completely oblivious of the tension in the air.

Hawke rounded on them, her clear eyes blazing with suppressed emotions as they zeroed in on Anders.

"This," she hissed, "is your fault."

Anders appeared taken aback by the vehemence of her statement and chuckled nervously.

"What, exactly, is my fault?"

She moved so quickly that Fenris half had his sword drawn to put between them, the lyruim in her veins etching onto her skin starkly vivid as she strode right up to the mage to poke him hard in the chest.

"The Chantry has put a price on my head and it's you and your Maker cursed spirit's fault," she growled, the normally mercurial color of her eyes replaced by a darkening shade, like a thunderstorm bearing down on them all if she let herself be pulled into her anger much further, the others finally realizing the danger they were all in and giving her a wide berth. None of them could match her in a fight with her lyruim-enhanced abilities and they all knew it.

"If you had just let it be," she snarled, each phrase punctuated by another hard jab, "If you had just listened to me when I said I would handle it, none of this would have happened."

Anders seemed torn between guilt and the need to defend himself. Fenris looked over at Bethany, but she shook her head in warning.

"That isn't fair, Hawke," the healer said quietly, hurt clearly reflected in his toffee colored eyes.

She raised her arms up, fingers splayed before she clenched them into a fist, the spidery lines flaring brightly.

"This-This isn't fair, Anders," she barked out, making them all wince at the ragged quality to her voice.

This wasn't the Hawke they knew; she didn't break this easily, not even when Kirkwall had come crashing down around their ears.

Without a word, Fenris stepped forward, coming around the hapless mage and bent at the waist, swinging Hawke up and over his shoulder as if she was a sack of potatoes. She let out a squeal of surprise, the lines on her skin receding a little before recovering in the face of her indignation. He turned to the others with a shrug of his unoccupied shoulder.

"I'm going to take her off for a while and let her cool off. If we're not back in an hour or so, then I couldn't handle her."

With that, he strode in the direction of the trees, Hawke cursing and flailing the entire way as their friends looked at one another in a mixture of confusion and grim amusement. Bethany was the first to speak.

"Well, I don't care what he says, I'm not going into those woods even if a horde of darkspawn decides to chase me from here to Orlais and back again."

The feeling was apparently mutual.

* * *

Hawke's face burned with embarrassment and perhaps just a small bit of excitement, had she cared to admit it even to herself. Fenris carried her deep into the trees and she almost immediately lost her bearings in the dense thicket of vegetation. It didn't help that every time she attempted to wiggle around to get a good look at where they were going she was swatted sharply on the rump. Grumbling under her breath, she ceased her struggling, recognizing when she was well and caught. She contented herself with watching the elf's narrow hips as his long legs carried them further and further from the camp. She still wanted to roast that blasted Anders but it seemed that she would have to bide her time until she could extricate herself from this particular predicament.

After what seemed like an hour of trekking through the undergrowth, Fenris rolled his shoulder and she was hoisted up and immediately writhed out of his grasp, intending to dart back in the direction they came. He was just a little bit quicker though.

"Hawke," he growled out in a warning tone as his strong hands gripped her wrist and pulled her back to him and grasping her firmly, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other clamping around her arms to keep her as still as possible.

Hawke continued to squirm, trying to maneuver her feet to sweep his out from under him. Somehow, she managed, and they went tumbling to the moss covered ground. She turned in his arms, bent on escape. The elf's lyruim brands flared and before she could scrabble away he had rolled them both until she was effectively pinned beneath him. The crimson lines crossing her skin blazed, meeting the cerulean glow of his, their bodies glowing like beacons in the darkness of the woods.

With a sneer, she bucked against him, but he held fast, his gauntleted hands holding down her arms in a death grip, his emerald eyes hard as the stones they resembled.

"You're not going anywhere until you calm down, Hawke," he said in a low voice as she struggled under him, his gaze darkening nearly black as her body surged against his.

"Let me go, Fenris, or Maker help me-"

He cut her off with his lips, crashing his down onto hers hungrily. She responded, channeling the raw power of her emotions as his tongue plundered the sweet cavern of her mouth and she moaned at the fierce onslaught of desire and need. She undulated beneath him, but now her purpose had changed. Her mind, a whirlwind before, was spinning in a different direction.

Fenris did not release her, however, tearing his lips from hers to blaze hotly down the line of her neck, nipping at the flesh of her throat. She couldn't breathe properly, desperately trying to get closer, pulling uselessly at the confines of his hands holding her arms above her head. Instinct took over and she rolled her hips up against his, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. She repeated the motion and he let go off her hands to keep her lower body still. The elf rained kisses along her collarbone, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging him back up to meet his lips with hers, the ferocity of her hunger for him only serving to stoke the fire that kindled low in his belly. Their bare arms brushed as she slipped her hand onto his shoulder and pushed, rolling them over, sparks of magic igniting across their flesh. She straddled his hips, leaning down to blaze her lips and tongue along his jaw, mimicking his earlier movements.

As those same, devilish lips ghosted across his chin, the lyruim markings on his skin flickered against the crimson ones mirrored on her flesh, flashing out another burst of sparkling magic. He groaned as she moved against him, swiftly removing his gauntlets and running his hands over her hips to grip them possessively before they wandered over her other curves. His trousers had become painfully tight and she her body practically rippled against his straining length, the friction almost too exquisite to bear. Her hands made lightning fast work of the buckles of his armor, pulling it away from his body and discarding it nearby. His undershirt quickly followed suit and as he tugged his head and arms free of the garment he froze.

Hawke had pulled the fastenings that keep her fencing shirt closed, forsaking it along with her breast band. Wane moonlight glittered in her hair, catching the deep red lyruim veins swirling across her flesh. She was beautiful, hauntingly so and he etched the image into his memory and his heart.

Fenris allowed his hands to wander up the slender expanse of her ribcage, upwards to cup her breasts in his palms, rolling his thumbs over her the pebbled tips. Hawke's head tipped back as he leaned up to take the rosy bud into the warmth of his mouth, her moan unraveling the last thread of his tight control.

With a growl, he rolled them over again, tearing the material of her trousers down her long legs before shucking his own. Her normally clear eyes were clouded with desire and it only heightened his own need as he ran a nimble finger along the slick heat of her folds, causing her to arch into his touch. Her hands were tracing delicate patterns across the ripped muscles of his abdomen, making him shiver. Then those wickedly delighful hands were stroking the thick, heavy evidence of his desire and he had to grit his teeth against the rocketing flames that coursed through his body at her touch.

"Temptress," he groaned as her lips curved into a smile, her thumb ghosting over the tip of his manhood, making his hips buck forward helplessly.

He could wait no longer. The elf pulled her hands away from his body, placing them on his shoulders with a soft kiss to each palm. He then guided himself into her tight sheath, filling her with an achingly slow thrust that made them both moan. Lips met in the dim moonlight and he eased back, pulling her with him until she was above him once more. His hands directed her hips to slide back down onto his throbbing length, her body surging against him in a way that had his head spinning.

They found a rhythm to their lovemaking and as their lips touched again and again, their kisses matching the tempo of their bodies, Hawke felt the lyruim fueled emotions finally ebb, replaced with a feeling bubbling in her chest that spread warmth clear to the tips of her toes. This was a melding of more than their flesh, the certainty of that cemented as she placed a hand over Fenris's heart, feeling the beat of it match her own. As she neared her peak, she quickened her pace and her lover's head fell back, his lips parted as her name tumbled past his lips in a guttural groan.

"Hawke…"

As it passed his lips, she climaxed, tightening around him as wave after hot wave engulfed her like the tide. He soon followed, his final thrust hard as he spilled his essence into her warmth, Hawke burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. She moved over, his spent length slipping from inside her and she curled into his side, the red lines finally fading away completely.

"Fenris," she murmured as his fingers traced a lazy circle on her back.

"Yes, Hawke?"

She whispered into his neck and she felt more than heard him chuckle softly before he answered her in his own tongue. There was still much to do, and she really needed to apologize to Anders for the outburst, but, for now, she could lay her head on Fenris's chest and trust that her eyes would open again in the morning.

* * *

_**A/N: That's Chapter 15, dearies, and what fun it was to write! *sigh* Now, on to the next installment. Really, I'll chain myself to the keyboard, I promise! Leave me a review, you all know how I love them. Seriously, though, let me know what you think, its always incredibly helpful and encouraging. Stay tuned!**_

_**~silvergryphon06**_


	16. Chapter 16

**_A/N: I stand by my previous statement. Please show some love for me story and I'll reward you with anything you desire, fic wise that is. Or, rather, Fenris will! *Pushes the elf forward like an offering* _**

**_Fenris: *glaring* I am not a toy for their or your amusement._**

**_Me: You are, you just don't know it yet *winks*_**

* * *

_She was standing in a dark, round room. How she knew it was round was a mystery because the blackness around her was absolute. The stone beneath her bare feet was cold, chilling her up to the very roots of her hair. Every now and again, she could see a flicker of red at the edges of her peripheral vision, but every time she turned to look at it fully, it disappeared. A soft humming seemed to drift past her in a nonexistent breeze, in a voice that called to her sweetly. Yet, when she stepped forward to answer its summons, she was back in the same spot. Suddenly, with a huge whoosh of air, she felt something behind her._

_Hawke whirled around, her eyes unable to penetrate the darkness, but she knew that whatever it was, was unmistakably evil. She tried to bolt, tried to will herself to any place but there, but she was as stuck as her previous attempts. Something like a giant clawed hand clamped around her jaw, lifting her off the ground and shaking her like a child's doll, her body going limp with the fury of the assault. It's grip tightened around her throat, another hand snaking its way to squeeze her closer into its freezing embrace. _

_Something kindled in the blackness, a soft viridian glow that brought warmth like sunshine to her skin. The force that held her loosened its grip, a screech that echoed harshly in her mind keening from somewhere in the depths of its shadowed form. The light could not penetrate it, but it did her, placing a tiny seed somewhere in her chest, one that bloomed into a feeling of strength. She grasped the thing with her hands, wincing as an iciness that scorched like fire seared her palms, but she didn't relent. She wretched herself free, turning in the room and scrambling towards the door she could finally make out on the other side. Laughter cascaded around her, red streaks of light twinkling malevolently in the shadows, but she ignored them, ignored the tempting serenade that beckoned her back. _

_The light's pull was stronger and Hawke could feel safety and comfort radiating out of it just past the open doorway. If she could just reach it-_

_Claws the color of midnight grabbed her around the ankles. She tripped, scrabbling against the cold stone floor, reaching desperately for freedom. But the blackness swirled around her and she watched the light flicker weakly before dying altogether. Cruel, maniacal giggles filled her ears and she shuddered knowing what was coming-_

Hawke jerked upright, fighting the hands that held her waist, pinning her down.

"Hawke, Hawke, what's the matter?" she heard asked, a voice richer than velvet sliding across her consciousness, soothing.

She relaxed, no longer blinded by blackness, and could see sunlight dappling around her, its warmth tickling her skin and chasing away the icy dread of her dream. Large, calloused hands trailed across her face, turning it and she found herself staring into eyes as green as the leaves that rustled above them. They were full of concern and if she didn't know better, she could have sworn fear slid through them before they blinked and it was gone. Fenris was right beside her, both of them naked as the day they were born. He cupped her cheek with a rough palm, bringing her face close to his so that their foreheads touched. Hawke realized she was trembling like a rabbit and willed herself to stop, bringing her hands up to run shaking fingers through the silvery strands of his hair.

"You were dreaming?" he inquired gently, as gently as he could ever be. She nodded, not ready to face the memories, and possible meanings of the night terror just yet.

He accepted her silence without question, moving his hands to trail fingertips lightly along her spine, an attempt at comfort and she was grateful for his reserve. She required time to think and no one understood that need to be alone in one's thoughts better than the elf that held her. Time seemed to slow and stop as they sat together, her head tucked beneath his chin, melting into the forest as if they were a natural part of it.

Finally, though, her practicality surfaced and she retreated, but not before pressing a lingering kiss to his throat, one that held a vast amount of meaning to the both of them. There really was no need for words, but she still felt as if she needed to state the obvious in order to end the night's chilling power over her sleeping mind.

"Let's get back. I'm sure the others believe we killed each other by now."

He chuckled. "Yes, Varric is probably already composing a flattering funeral dirge in our honor."

She allowed herself a small smile as she reached for her discarded clothes and he his armor. Dressed and beginning to relax a bit, the horror of the nightmare fading, she slipped her hand into his as he led her back to camp.

* * *

The others did not seem surprised to see them, though she had dropped his hand before they came through the tree line. He did not mind the world knowing they were lovers, but public displays of affection just… weren't him. Even so, it made flirtatious teasing much more exciting, as it was a game of motion and words that only they were aware of. Bethany was bent over the campfire, stirring a large pot that bubbled and Hawke could see brown foam floating on the surface. The smell of stew and herbs filled her nostrils, her stomach growling audibly. Thank the Maker at least one of the Hawke siblings had inherited their mother's culinary abilities. The best Hawke could do was manage not to burn bacon and dry other meats, but otherwise, she was hopeless as a cook.

Her sister looked up as they approached, a warm smile lighting her face and Hawke just could not understand why anyone could look at her and not fall in love. Bethany was the sweetest, gentlest soul on the face of Thedas, with more affection in her heart to give than anyone had the right to receive. She was going to make a wonderful mother one of these days and Hawke bit back a grin at the thought of a little Carver look alike with black hair and big blue eyes. Shaking her head to dispel the daydream, she sat on the log she had occupied the previous evening as Fenris moved to her tent, disappearing inside.

"Feeling better?" Bethany asked as she stirred the pot with a long ladle, concern and fondness lacing her tone.

Hawke nodded. "I suppose so, though I should probably have Isabela tattoo 'guilty' across my forehead. Anders didn't deserve that chewing out."

"Oh yes, he did," the younger mage replied and her sister was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. "The man needs to be taken down a peg. He thinks the whole world is his to save. It's about time someone lashed some sense into his fool head."

"Perhaps you should jump on him next time. I'm sure he'd find it much more pleasant," Hawke teased, thoroughly enjoying the flush that crept up into her sibling's cheeks.

Bethany wagged the ladle under her sister's nose with a playful smile.

"You leave that alone, missy, or I'll turn all your socks to ashes."

Hawke shuddered in horror at the very thought and relented, nodding vigorously.

"Alright, alright, you win!"

"Win what?" Merril's musical voice drifted from the tent she and Isabela shared, her pretty head peeping from out of the flap.

"A sibling debate," Hawke replied with a smile as the elfin mage blearily stumbled over to them, hiding a large yawn behind one of her pale hands.

She plopped down near Hawke on the ground, folding her long legs under her in the fashion of her people, the tilt of her head and the curious glint in her eye reminding Hawke strongly of a little bird.

"What about?"

"Socks."

"What a very strange thing to argue about. I'm glad I don't wear any then, I wouldn't like to argue with anyone over them."

Hawke bit her lip to keep from laughing at how seriously her friend took the conversation and glanced over to see Varric and Sebastian rolling out of their bedrolls, twin expressions of sleepy bewilderment on their faces. She did chuckle then, moving her gaze over to a third lump on the ground near them to see honey colored tresses poking out in all directions and nothing else visible. As the others gathered for breakfast, she rose and lightly treaded over to where the mage still slept, careful to keep her voice low.

"Anders?" she murmured, reaching out to touch a jutting that she assumed was his arm.

There was a mumbling, followed by the lump twisting under the blanket and she thought he turned away from her. Gently, she pulled the coarse material back to reveal her friend's stubbled face, actually faced towards her, his usually furrowed brow smoothed in sleep. Pity and affection mingled in her soul as she looked on his careworn face. When had he aged so? She bit back a sigh and shook her head, hair bouncing around her features. She had done this to him, no matter what he said. If she hadn't been so damned persistent and blinded in her quest to make everything _right_ in Kirkwall, she could have prevented his mad scheming; she could have saved him.

Suddenly his big hand was cupping her cheek, warm eyes open and looking up at her with an expression that made her heart ache.

"You couldn't have stopped me, Hawke. And you already saved me."

Dammit, why was it that when she talked to herself in her head it slipped out of her mouth?

He chuckled lightly, his thumb brushing across the soft expanse of her cheek and she felt a tingle, the lyruim taint in her blood responding to the magic he had been born with.

"You saved me by just being you," he murmured, gaze flitting over her face and Hawke's cheeks warmed at the intensity of his scrutiny.

His amber eyes, always so sad, quickly flickered with life and she saw hope fill his gaze; a hope that a decade of longing and waiting would finally be over as he slipped his hand to cradle the back of her neck and started to pull her towards him.

"Anders, no," she said quickly, resisting his hand, rejecting him with a harsh call of his name and jerking back, landing ungracefully on her rump.

Hurt and sorrow clouded over the light in his eyes, making them lose the sparkle that had been there only a moment ago. Now she felt even worse than after she had yelled at him. Sighing, he rose from his makeshift bed without another word. He leaned down and pulled her to her feet, letting go of her hand as quickly as possible before ambling over to the others. Maker's Breath, how did she get herself into these situations?

Muttering under her breath, she joined them, slipping the mask she had learned to wield as the newly titled Champion in Kirkwall several years ago. With a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she stood near Fenris, who had emerged from her tent carrying her leather armor in his arms. Her hunger having evaporated with her good mood, she busied herself with strapping on her brigandine, fastening it along her sides with practiced fingers for the moment ignoring the camp chatter that buzzed around her. Her greaves where next, the straps tightened securely around her thighs before she tugged on her worn, fingerless leather gloves with a rough tug. Her arm bracer gave her some trouble; however, she really needed new equipment soon, the stitching unraveling more from the piece as the days went by.

Fenris looked over at her from his seat next to her and placed his bowl of stew on the ground at his feet. Turning slightly at the waist, he assisted her and she flashed him a warm smile, the sourness of her mood lifting a little. His lips quirked at the corners, the closest she'd get to a genuine expression of affection from him. It was enough for her, though and she stretched her legs out before her languidly before cracking her knuckles with a sharp popping. Everyone fell silent then, as it was her usual signal that she was about to speak. Despite the black cloud that hung heavily in her heart, she spoke in light, clipped tones, pushing the ball of tense worry to the back of her mind to untangle later.

"It'll probably be at least a week before we find the Deep Roads entrance. I'd suggest we stay off the roads to avoid the Templars and mercenaries that are after our heads. Sebastian, you know the lay of the land best, do you have a course in mind?"

That was something Fenris admired about her the most. She may be the unofficial leader of their little band of misfits, but she always valued what they thought. It was what made her special, what made people walk straight into the Void for her. She saw them as people, friends and it cemented their loyalty to her as surely as the sun rose in the East every morning.

The exiled prince tilted his head in thought, rubbing his chin with tanned fingers and Hawke noticed out of the corner of her eye how closely Merril watched his actions. Her attention was brought back to the archer, however, as he spoke, his smooth brogue a delight to any woman's ears.

"It'd probably be best if we keep in the direction we're headed. There's a large marsh that we'll have to pass through, just before the base of the mountains, but I think we'll manage."

Hawke nodded, pleased with his assessment. He was going to make a fine ruler one of these days and she intended to see him back on the throne as soon as she could. She owed him that much.

"Alright, let's break up camp and move out. We've got a lot of ground to cover and I have no doubts there are going to be silly things that we'll have to stab to get them out of the way."

She spoke with levity that she didn't feel, certain that worrying her friends further wasn't going to do any them one bit of good. Her gaze slid past Anders' and she quickly looked away, unwilling to meet the heat in the amber pools. She _really_ needed to just throw Bethany under the proverbial ogre's feet before the man burned every bridge she had tried to build with him and Fenris.

As they set out a little over an hour later, she raised her eyes skyward, mouthing a silent prayer. Maker, but she hoped there would be darkspawn or Templars or something ahead. She really needed the break from all the broody men complicating her life.


	17. Chapter 17

The Maker really was out to get her, she was certain of it. What she had done to offend, was something she wasn't so quite sure of. Hawke covered her nose with a gloved hand, barely holding back the retch as the scent of the marsh washed across them. It was like walking into a wall of stench. Her glance back affirmed the others were having the same reaction. She twisted her upper body to fix her eyes on the archer prince, eyebrows raised so high that they almost disappeared into her hairline.

"What was that you said about the swamp being no problem, Sebastian?" the flippancy in her voice hardly masked the irritation.

"I-I'd forgotten how awful the place smelled," he gasped out between breaths through his lips.

She just shook her head and turned back to resume walking. The ground was beginning to soften under her boots, the soggy soil sucking at her feet wetly. Hawke ignored the sound, squishing through the tangled underbrush, knife drawn. Deftly, she hacked away at the thick thorn vines that blocked their path, carving a way through the vegetation till they cleared the woods. She stopped to survey the terrain and couldn't say she cared for what stretched before her gaze. Several groans rang out behind her and she knew her friends were thinking along the same lines. Small, snaking ruts of land rose above large swaths of water, the fetid pools buzzing with the hum of insects. Far into the distance, she could see the mountain chain that held the passage to safety. Still, it was going to take at least half a day of walking to get through the muck and they would have to probably spend one night near the marsh, if not in the midst of it.

Hawke looked up, the sun's position in the sky indicating that it was almost midday. Her mind worked quickly. They could set up camp here, where the ground was still somewhat firm, or they could lose themselves in the mire and whoever may be giving pursuit in the process. She shook her head again, grumbling under her breath. With a tentative step, she walked forward, dipping the tip of her boot into the murky pool nearest to them. Slime clung to the boot as she withdrew and shook her foot vigorously.

"Well, it's either stay here or go ahead in, though I doubt any of us are especially eager. Except maybe Varric of course, I heard him talking about needing a bath earlier," she called back, her lips twisting humorously at the dwarf's sputtering protest.

"It's unlike you to be speechless," she smirked as she turned to pace back to gathered group.

"I'm not, that comment was just beneath contempt," was the final reply.

"I'm going to let that one just go," she chuckled before placing her attention on the others. "So, what's the plan then? Are to venture into the potentially poisonous and definitively icky depths of the marsh or stay here and let whoever may be behind come and get us?"

"I'd rather take my chances in the marsh," Fenris spoke up with a frown, his gauntleted hand coming up to cup his chin in thought as his other arm crossed his lean chest. "I do not like having something at my back and knowing that it could appear at any moment without having some fortified position. The swamp offers the better protection, at any rate."

"I would agree," Hawke replied, frowning herself as she turned to look back over the swamp. "What about the rest of you?"

Despite their dubious expressions, they agreed that venturing into the marsh was probably there safest course of action. So, with a wave of her hand and a roll of her shoulders, she led the way, unwilling to pay any attention to the uneasy weight that had settled between her shoulder blades. There was something very wrong with the marsh, she realized after they had been walking for nearly half an hour. The further in they went, the less sounds carried across the humid air until there was naught but silence. The only noises now were the heavy breaths as they trudged over the muddy soil, an occasional splash as someone's foot slipped into the water.

Hawke's eyes scanned constantly in front as Fenris in the rear kept watch on their flanks. The paths ahead twisted seemingly endlessly, thin trails that allowed them to only travel single file, something that made Hawke edgy. The lyruim in her blood was humming beneath her skin and she felt something magical, yet not, hovering in the damp air. No whisper of wind, no croaking of frogs, just mist and mire and the overpowering stench of decay. Anders approached her from behind, touching her shoulder and causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. He leaned close,

"There is something hiding in the waters here. It's…waiting for something, but that's all I can discern," his breath fanned against her ear gently as he whispered.

She nodded, keeping her expression neutral. "I feel it too and I don't think it likes us too much. Pass the word down to keep a sharp eye. I believe we'll have visitors of the unpleasant variety soon."

The mage obeyed, slowing his pace to speak to Bethany and Hawke eased her bow out of its harness, nocking an arrow with a practiced motion. She kept her pace steady, unwilling to show any fear to whatever it was that was tracking them. There was a sensation on the back of her neck, the hairs prickling as she felt eyes following her movements, but she couldn't figure out from where. They reached an unusually wide band of solid ground near the very heart of the marsh after another hour of marching. She raised her fist, signaling a halt and they crowded near her, all of them tense and various weapons drawn.

Hawke kept her namesake gaze on the mists that surrounded them. It seemed to have thickened as the day wore on, unnatural. Fog normally dissipated with the heat of the sun, but then, the orb did not seem like it could entirely penetrate here. She edged closer to Sebastian, noting his bow was as ready as hers.

"What do you know about this place, Sebastian? What's the history here?" she murmured, her voice hushed by the heaviness of the air.

He shook his head slowly. "I know little, except that there used to be a fairly large village here. When the Blight before the last took the land, the darkspawn completely decimated this area. I can't remember the name now, but I do remember my grandfather saying that the people who lived here just vanished, as if the marsh had swallowed them. He said there had been rumors of blood magic used to defend it against the Blight, but no one could ever find anything to prove or disprove it."

Hawke nodded silently, processing the information like lightning. Blood magic would explain the heavy magical feeling in the atmosphere and the uncomfortable sensations that were making her tainted blood hum strangely. It was the exact same feeling as when she and Fenris had gone to the Wycome Circle ruins. With the memories of that experience flashing through her mind, she turned her attention to the others, speaking softly.

"Whatever is coming is going to wait for nightfall. It'll try to separate us, so keep your back to someone at all times. Bethany, Anders, set up some wards."

"What about me, Hawke?" came the tremulous question from Merril, her wide green eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Stay close to me, kitten, I could use some of those armor spells you're so good at," Isabela replied with a small chuckle and a wink, making the little mage relax visibly.

Hawke shot her a grateful look. She really didn't want to have to hurt her friend's feelings and the woman had picked up what she was thinking almost as quickly as they had come to her mind. Maker bless that buxom pirate!

Hawke stepped over to Fenris as he continued to sweep his jade eyes behind them, the flexing of his fingers the only indicator that he was ill at ease. She bumped her forehead against his shoulder to get his attention, her hands full. He turned to look over at her.

"Stay close to Isabela and the others, you're the last line of defense."

"Which means you're going to be the first," he stated flatly with a frown. She fought to roll her eyes at him.

"Yes, as are Varric and Sebastian. We have the range you don't and if anything gets past us, I need you to make sure nothing happens to the others."

He grunted in reply. He didn't like it and she knew it, but he knew she was right. Struck by a sudden thought, the pretty rogue turned around but not before bumping her forehead against him again like a cat showing affection. Striding over to where Anders was standing near the edge of the water with Bethany, Hawke whispered something to her sister. The amber eyed mage glanced over at the siblings with raised eyebrows.

"What are you two whispering about?"

"Nothing, just sister talk," was Hawke's clipped reply. She changed the subject quickly. "Do you think you could perhaps help me with some traps, Anders?"

He nodded and Hawke gestured for Varric to join them. Sebastian was an amazing archer and a first class pickpocket, but he was hopeless when it came to constructing traps. Varric, on the other hand, had the golden touch.

Evening came, the sun's wan light fading far faster than it would have had not the fog been so thick. The smell of death became stronger, the tang of blood a nauseating undercurrent, making Hawke wrinkle her nose distastefully. They were as prepared as they were ever going to be, fortifying their defenses as efficiently and as quickly as possible. As the last ray of light faded into the mist, Hawke gestured to the other two archers, and they assumed positions around the edges of the small ground. The earth under her boots was muddy, trampled from the amount of movement on its surface. It was going to be difficult to keep balance, but that was going to be true for whatever was coming for them. At least, it was true assuming that it didn't fly or hover or something nasty like that.

It seemed as if the world waited with baited breath, the stillness of the coming darkness unnerving and abnormal. It was as if nothing lived except for the small band on that tiny island in the murk. Hawke nocked an arrow without even glancing down, the motion as natural to her as breathing. Whispering softly, she cast the enchantment that allowed her to see in the darkness, the swamp suddenly completely clear to her gaze. She lifted a hand and could hear Bethany mutter words before there was a small gasp from the others, almost enough to make her chuckle. The amusement died in her throat as she spotted what had been waiting for the dark.

Shriveled, pale forms were shambling through the gloom, silently, their steps in the waters not even causing a ripple. Hawke cast her gaze further back and could see something large behind the other figures and she squinted, cursing under her breath as she realized what it was.

"The undead have risen! A hunger demon drives them!" she yelled out, speaking a phrase and watching with satisfaction as cold frosted over her arrow as she shot it high into the air, a gesture causing it to burst into a deadly, icy rain of bolts on the staggering corpses.

She pulled another arrow as Sebastian flanked her right, the firing of arrow so close that it ruffled her hair across her cheek. There was no time to give him the glare she wanted to, as the crackling sound of energy filled her ears and she dove towards him, knocking him down as a ball of lightning hurtled past them, barely missing her exposed arm. She rolled off of the prince, sending a nasty look at her sibling, who shrugged helplessly before pointing behind her. Hawke whipped around, a petrified corpse lifting a rusted sword to slash awkwardly at her back. She twisted easily out of the way, drawing her long knife and slicing off its head with a vicious motion.

More poured from all sides of the little island and Hawke was pushed further and further back, the press of the undead almost too many to handle. She felt heat build near the center of her back and moved, dodging a jet of flames that Anders sent careening towards the horde. Shaking her head to clear it, she turned and dropped her bow as the demon slithered up to her, its head twisting at an odd angle as tendrils shot out from its body to encase her in a vice like grip. Hawke struggled valiantly and she could hear her friends battling hard to get to her, but the mass of walking corpses kept them back.

"Well now, what have we here?" it purred, the sound like a thousand voices trapped under water. "I've never seen anything like you. You smell…delicious."

"Thanks," was her sarcastic reply, her mind working furiously. The presence in the back of her mind cackled gleefully, more than happy to see her die at the hands of the demon and she snarled at it, her lips curling into a visibly sneer.

"Now, now, is that any way to greet your host?" the Void damned asked silkily.

"She's not on the menu, demon," a voice boomed from behind her and she craned her neck to see who it was, the sound unfamiliar.

Hawke gaped to see Anders's normally toffee-colored eyes glowing an iridescent blue, cerulean veins crackling over his skin as black smoke whirled about him. He was striding through the writhing corpses like wading through water, energy lashing out at them, turning them to foul-smelling ash.

"She is ours, creature, leave her be," he bellowed, staff spinning in his hand as sparking lightning filled his empty palm.

She could have sworn she heard the demon smirk.

"I think not. She is too…enticing… to let go," the way it said that made her shudder in disgust, the words slipping over her like slime.

"Then you will suffer the burn of Justice," was the response and Hawke cried out when the now blazing ball was flung directly at her.

She couldn't dodge, couldn't move, the demon held her fast, roaring in fury as the energy swallowed them both. It scorched over her skin and she screamed, dimly aware that someone else was screaming too. It felt like hundreds of fires had erupted over her, in her, around her, engulfing her in a blazing agony. Just as quickly, the heat was snuffed out, replaced with a coolness washing over her and she sobbed in relief, finally able to feel the tears that had been running down her face. The demon still held her, its body engulfed in flames, but its grip has nothing now. She wriggled free, crawling away from the decimated corpse. She fully intended on ripping Anders's head clean from his shoulders as soon as she had the strength to stand, grateful for the damp feel of earth under her cheek. What in the Void gave him the idea to throw a fucking fireball at her?

Hands were on her then, gently turning her over and she was being cradled in strong arms. She opened her eyes and was staring up into orbs the shade of spring leaves, full of worry, fear, anger, and a sea of emotions churning that finally settled on relief and something else, something that removed the coldness from her chest. She grimaced when he touched her cheek, the stinging pain almost making her cry out again. The elf's eyes widened in shock and she couldn't understand what was wrong.

"What is it? Is my face melted or something?" she croaked, her throat constricted and dry.

"No, Hawke, look," he softly lifted her hand for her to inspect and she started to tremble.

"What-what is this?"

Her skin was glowing, not the angry red like it did when the lyruim took control, but a soft viridian, the color swirling across the expanse of her arm. She painfully lifted the other, seeing the same. After a moment, the glow faded, but the markings remained, apparently etched into her skin. With a jerk, she tried to stand, panic threatening to overwhelm her. Fenris shushed her, easing them both to their feet and she wobbled, clutching at his shoulders for support. A quick movement and her arm was over his shoulder as she limped towards the others, who were gawking at her. She growled low in her throat, the hoarseness of her voice making it sound almost animalistic.

"What did you do to me, Anders?"

* * *

_**A/N: Bwahahahaha, how is that for a cliffhanger? Now, I could leave it there...or maybe some of you will encourage me to continue? Hmm? Any takers? Fenris is still waiting in the wings for to be that special Christmas present under your tree this year!**_

_**Fenris: I am *not*.**_

_**Me: Hush! You're the best bargaining chip I have. Just go back to your corner and brood, will ya? **_

_**Fenris: I can do other things...**_

_**Me: *taps a finger to her chin before waving and darting off***_

_**Till Next time, darlings, stay tuned!**_

_**~Silvergryphon**_


	18. Chapter 18

The healer looked absolutely stunned, his mouth opening and closing a few times, amber tinted eyes wide with shock. Fenris placed a possessive arm around Hawke's waist before sliding her arm off his shoulders and guiding her to sit on the soggy ground. His hand braced her back as he knelt at her side, keeping the swaying Champion upright.

"Don't stand there like an imbecile, help her," he snarled. "So help me, abomination, if you've done something to her I'll-"

"Fenris," she cut him off, speaking his name in a quiet tone that immediately arrested his attention as her hand weakly reached out to touch his arm.

Isabela exchanged a silent look with Varric, both of them raising their brows at the elf's shift from fury to concern even before the next heartbeat. Anders scowled as he moved to her other side, dropping to one knee and also placing his hand on her back. Fenris growled at him, his face revealing just how close he was to simply ripping the mage's organs out of his chest and be done with it. Anders met his gaze with an angered one of his own.

"I have to touch her to figure out what Justice did," he snapped.

"What Justice did?" Hawke queried from between them, her voice husky as her eyelids fluttered. She was fighting tooth and nail to stay conscious.

Anders began to talk as Fenris withdrew slightly to allow the mage to work, but only as far as an arm's reach from her, his gauntleted hands fisting and un-fisting at his sides.

"I don't know what to tell you, Hawke, other than when I saw that blighted demon I-I lost all control. I just wanted to keep you safe. He slipped out and just-"

"Hit me with a Maker-damned fireball," she groused, a soft whimper escaping as Anders's hand slid over a deep gash on her side where the demon had sliced through her armor as it grabbed her.

The sound had Fenris right beside her to cup her cheek soothingly, murmuring to her in Tevinter and she leaned into the touch. Something slid through Anders's eyes at the sight, but it was quickly gone.

"So he did," he replied with a nod. "And it-it seems," he paused, his hands flaring briefly as he probed her for further injuries.

"It seems what, mage?" Fenris barked at him, his hand still against the Champion's face.

Before Anders could respond, Hawke's clear eyes clouded over and rolled back in her head and she fell forward, the elf catching her in his arms quickly. Anders reacted nearly at the same time, but did not possess Fenris's enhanced reflexes. Instead, he moved to check her again, nodding to himself.

"She's just unconscious, which is probably a blessing. She's hurting now, but it'll be worse when she wakes up if we don't get her out of here and somewhere dry and relatively safe."

The two men locked gazes over Hawke's head and the others held their breath. After a few tense moments, they nodded to one another and Fenris easily scooped their leader into his arms. He carried her as if she weighed nothing, striding towards the others as they waited at the other end of the little island. He carefully picked his way through the fallen corpses, motionless in death once more.

"We move on. Varric, take rear guard. Sebastian, you take point. Keep an eye out for anymore undead. We're not stopping until we reach the mountains."

* * *

No one argued and they swiftly began their march once more, Bethany and the other mages holding aloft small balls of light in their palms to illuminate the winding path through the marsh. Fenris cradled Hawke close to his chest as he strode beside Anders, who would lift a hand to keep checking her every so often. Worry furrowed his brows as he looked at her deathly pale features. Tenderly, he bent his snow white head and touched his lips to her forehead, the clammy feel of her skin against his mouth a troublesome sign. But her breathing was even and unlabored, so perhaps it was not as bad as it , they trudged on, weaving through the bog with care. The sun started to rise when they finally stopped, having reached the edge of the marsh.

Hawke stirred in his arms, her hands lifting slightly before she they settled against his chest, her face burying in the crook of his shoulder. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. There had been no other encounters with anything, the death of the demon seeming to have removed the foul presence from the swamp. Still, it was probably best if they kept moving, at least for a little while longer. The open expanse offered no protection if something else decided to cause trouble and the sparse clumps of trees dotting the landscape were hardly better. Fenris shifted the precious cargo he held in his arms before turning to Sebastian with a tilt of his head.

"You are the most familiar with the territory. We need shelter and fresh water."

The prince nodded, his cerulean eyes scanning the rosy horizon. He pointed northwest with a gloved finger, towards the farthest end of the mountain chain.

"If I remember rightly, there's a strip of woodlands in that direction. It isn't very wide, but it is thickly grown. Perhaps two, three miles as the crow flies."

Fenris nodded shortly, falling into step beside the archer, knowing the others were close behind. The growing light of morning offered him a chance to more closely inspect the woman he carried. Her coloring was better and, as the sun rose, he could make out a soft, swirling pattern over her skin. It dipped and swirled across her arms, curling like thin branches. The markings were viridian in color and seemed to ghost over her skin, not imbedded like his lyruim branded flesh. Twin swaths of tint curved up her cheeks, the tips coming to rest at the corners of her eyes. He looked over at the healer and jerked his head. Anders came closer and let out a small breath at the sight, raising a hand to trace the markings on her cheeks with a fingertip. Fenris bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to resist the urge to head butt the man next to him. The mage was going to have to get even closer to her once they stopped, so he might as well try to control his temper. That didn't mean he couldn't glare at him though.

Hawke stirred again at the touch, burying her nose further into Fenris's neck. As both men looked on, the markings gradually faded until they were barely noticeable.

"What does it mean, mage?"

"I'm not sure, to be perfectly honest. Justice just keeps telling me that she's been purified, but I have my doubts," Anders replied, his brows drawn together in thought.

"What doubts?" the elf pressed, his long stride slowing slightly to keep abreast of the healer.

"The idol's taint wouldn't have succumbed so easily to just a fireball. It reacted to defend itself, that much is certain, and keeping Hawke from being consumed in the process. The end result of that process, however, is what puzzles me. I'm not sure what's been done in her body and I won't until I get a chance to examine her more closely."

Fenris held back the growl building in his throat and just nodded jerkily. It frustrated him to no end that he couldn't help her. He could lend her all of his strength, but it wasn't enough to undo what had already been done and that thought along tormented him the rest of their journey to the patch of woodlands Sebastian had spoken of. Within half an hour, they had cleared away debris just within the tree line and set up camp, working as quickly and efficiently as possible, being short two pairs of hands. Fenris eased down onto a fallen log, checking to make sure it wouldn't crumble under his weight combined with Hawke's. It held and he shifted her limp body on his lap, her long legs dangling over his and his lanky arms wrapped around her securely. No one was paying them any attention at the moment, so he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, speaking Tevinter into her ear quietly. She didn't respond, but then he hadn't expected her to.

Fenris noticed Merril digging through the large canvas packs that contained their tents and watched her struggle with the thick cloth, tugging at it with gritted teeth. With a mighty heave, she pulled and out the material flew, covering her head as she landed flat on her back with a whoosh of air. Her arms flailed helplessly for a few moments and he couldn't help but to chuckle quietly, mindful not to awaken his charge. Sputtering in indignation, she threw the heavy cloth off her head and scrambled to her feet. Gesturing, the canvas shuddered and began sliding across the leaf strewn forest floor, wooden poles erecting themselves. Ropes slithered over the material, tying themselves in knots around the stakes that twisted themselves into the soft, loamy soil. A work of a moment and it was done, Merril crossing her arms with a proud, beaming smile, looking around for someone to have seen her accomplishment.

The others were absorbed in their own respective tasks and her features drooped like a wilted flower. With a sigh, she stepped lightly towards Bethany and started to help her put together something for supper. Fenris carefully stood and carried Hawke to the newly constructed tent, grunting a thank you to Merril, who jerked around in surprise before grinning happily. He bent and stepped inside, pleased that a bedroll had already been magically moved into the interior. The elf laid his lover down with a smooth motion, before trailing a finger down her cheek tenderly and slipping back outside to find Anders. The healer had just finished constructing a magical barrier that would keep wandering eyes unaware of their presence. Catching sight of the warrior, he secured his staff and joined him near the tent.

Anders stepped inside, Fenris right on his heels and both knelt by their leader. Bethany also poked her head inside, nibbling on her lower lip with a worried expression.

"How is she?" she murmured softly.

"Better," Anders assured her with a small smile, one she returned and he was struck by how much that smile resembled the dimpled one Hawke flashed on numerous occasions.

Dismissing the thought with a mental shrug, he turned his attention once again to his patient. A dim glow flowed into his hands which hovered over Hawke's prone form. His brow knitted in concentration and Fenris crouched silently nearby, his forearms resting on his thighs. Bethany stepped further into the spacious tent and lifted her cupped palm, shining extra light for the other mage to work by. He gave her a warmly grateful look and then continued his examination. As his outstretched palms passed over Hawke's chest there was a bright flare, emanating from the markings on her skin and Anders withdrew, letting his hands fall back. He folded one arm across his chest, the other slowly rubbing his chin, apparently in thought.

Hawke stirred again, her eyelids fluttering and Fenris moved closer, his face unreadable. Her eyes cleared as they opened and she looked up at the ceiling of the tent, her face frowning in confusion. A soft touch to her hair made her turn her head and she caught Fenris's stare, a small smile curving her lips. She brought her hand up to cover his.

"Hey there," she whispered.

"Nice to see you back in the land of the living," was his hushed response, his lips twitching as relief rushed through him.

Her gaze moved from the elf to see her sibling just to the right of Anders's shoulder and she flashed a weak grin.

"What's causing that look, sister? You didn't think a little old hunger demon was going to get rid of me that easily, did you?"

Bethany's eyes twinkled, her lips matching the curve of her sister's. "Hardly, I was waiting to see when you would tire of your nap. There's work to be done, you know."

Hawke laughed softly before glancing over to the amber-eyed healer.

"How am I, doctor?" her tone a mixture of playful and hesitancy, an odd combination for her, but Anders figured she was probably as anxious as the rest of them, only trying not to show it.

"You'll be fine with some rest. That was quite a scare you gave us though," he replied, keeping his voice light.

Her eyes fell to her arm and she suddenly frowned, reaching over and tracing the pattern with a finger.

"What about these?"

Anders shrugged. "I'm still not sure. The taint in your blood feels lighter, as if it's been pushed back or slowed from progressing. Justice is not very forthcoming with his intentions, much less what they've caused. As of yet, I haven't found a reason for you to worry about them overmuch. They seem to be fading."

She nodded. "It doesn't feel as…" she trailed off, groping in her mind for the right word, "heavy, in my mind as it has been. I suppose I ought to thank Justice, but until I'm sure this is good thing, I think I'll hold off on that, if you don't mind."

Anders let out a small chuckle. "I don't mind, though you might offend his sensibilities, you know. Manners are important."

She laughed again, closing her eyes as her breathing deepened. Within moments, she was asleep and Fenris stroked a hand through her hair. Anders watched, a deep emotion flickering in his eyes before he turned his gaze away.

"I suggest we keep a close eye on her for the next few day," he said, clearing his throat, "Until we know exactly what's happened, she'll need a good bit of care."

Fenris nodded. "I agree."

Bethany's eyes widened before glancing upwards. Those two were agreeing on something? Maker help them, surely a horde of dragons were about to swoop down out of the sky. Still, she thought as she quietly slipped out of the tent, her sister had a knack for inspiring loyalty and friendship amongst people. All the same, the younger Hawke wasn't going to hold her breath that the truce would last forever, especially not between those two stubborn-

A large warm hand on her shoulder interrupted her train of thought, startling her out of her reverie. She turned quickly and almost bit her tongue to see the warm, toffee-colored eyes of Anders just behind her. He stepped back with a sheepish smile.

"I'm sorry, Bethany, I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted you to know that you were very helpful in there and-" he trailed off, seeming uncertain.

She tilted her head, ignoring the way her heartbeat sped up around the other mage. "Yes, Anders?"

"I-I just don't want you to worry," he said in a rush, "she's going to be perfectly fine, you know."

Her eyes softened and she patted his arm, the expression on her face making his stomach flip in a strange way, the way it did when Hawke looked at him like that.

"I know, Anders, I have all the faith in the world in you."

With that, she moved away, returning to the campfire to assist Merril, who was in the process of burning the stew she had hanging in the pot. Anders let out a breath, confused by the warm tingling in his chest as he watched the curve of the younger mage's hips sway gently as she walked. He shook his head, wondering why he hadn't ever noticed that before and why her words meant quite so much.

* * *

_**A/N: I hope that satisfied some people's curiousity. Feedback, plz, I'm wondering what you all are thinking about this new development. Fenris hasn't been claimed yet!**_

**_Fenris: Perhaps I've made a claim._**

**_Me: *Thinks a minute then shakes her head* Nah, it's too good to be true. Besides, if that was the case, they'd never leave me anything nice. _**

**_Stay tuned!_**

**_~silvergryphon_**


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N: Hey guys, I apologize about taking so long to update, but life, as usual, tends to get in the way of the creative writing process. Hopefully, they will be more frequent from now on. Thank you all for your support and patience with me. Please let me know what you think of this latest development! Enjoy!**_

* * *

The sound of her bare legs scraping against the rough cloth of her bedroll was painfully loud in Hawke's ears and she immediately froze. The bandages wrapped tightly around her middle made it difficult to breathe and she fought down the urge to shred them in frustration. Her eyes darted towards the two large lumps on the other side of the tent. Anders and Bethany had insisted on sleeping nearby, just in case. Unfortunately, they and Fenris also maintained that she had to remain in her bedroll in order to heal. Three days later and she felt like she just might scream.

Several heartbeats passed with absolute stillness before Hawke felt as if she could move again. Easing up into a sitting position, she slowly and carefully managed to get on her boots, then to her feet, grabbing her pack in the process. With silent steps, she padded towards the entrance of the tent, ducking beneath the flap with a wince as the bindings pinched her skin. She breathed in the early dawn air, filling her lungs with the scent of light dew and earthy decay. Quietly, she moved past the dying embers, her passage stirring a tiny pile of the ashy cinders before they resettled in the dirt.

She threw open her pack, rummaging and muttering under her breath.

"Bloody bandages. I'll show the bastard the meaning of comfortable bindings when I get my hands on him. Ah!"

Triumphant, she held up her skinning knife, swiftly reversing her grip and slicing through the wraps with a sigh of relief, scratching every inch of revealed skin she could reach. Bruises lined her torso where the bandages had been bound far too securely. The linens had fallen to the ground in a heap and she poked at them with the toe of her boot. Snarling at them like a disgruntled cat, she pulled a loose fitting shirt over her head, the cloth pleasantly cool against her skin. Twisting her upper body languidly, she stretched muscles that protested from lack of use.

"You shouldn't be prowling around yet," a deeply timbered voice spoke from behind her and she glared over her shoulder.

Fenris was crouched on a fallen log, his forearms resting lightly on his armored thighs. A smirk played around his lips and her scowl deepened.

"I'm hardly prowling," she replied mildly before changing the subject, "Do you think we can move out after sunrise?"

"Are you up to it?"

She bent over, hunkering down and feeling her muscles clench painfully at the motion, but she ignored it.

Digging about a moment in her pack, she felt the soft, worn leather of her trousers

"I have to be."

It was a statement of fact. It had never mattered the circumstances of her life. The death of her father had devastated her, but her mother had been bedridden for months afterwards. Without anyone to support them, Hawke had taken responsibility for her family, selling her skill with a bow to the highest bidder. Her brother had always assumed that it was because she felt superior, and that she sought glory, fame; the selfish reasons that a young teenager would naturally have taken to. The reality, however, had been quite different. Carver had simply been needed on the farm, his strength alone enough to supplement what Hawke could not provide.

The pattern continued, even as her family had escaped to Kirkwall. Always, her reactions had been shoved to the back of her mind to be handled later or not at all. She wasn't entirely sure that she could have survived if she had not adopted that mode of thinking at a fairly young age. Hawke bit back a sigh. Nothing she had done had saved him though, or their father. The memory of the ogre's massive fist slammed into her as if it had come back to life to punch her right in the gut and her jaw clenched. She was faster now, more experienced. By the grace of the Maker, it would be enough this time. Clenching her eyes shut, she fought back against the pull of distant memories.

* * *

"_Leandra?" he called softly and Hawke scooted her chair closer to his bedside, her scraggly young body all joints and angles in her seat._

"_It's me, Father. Mother's trying to put the twins to sleep."_

"_A futile endeavor, at best," he murmured with a dry chuckle, his eyes closed._

_Hawke felt her lips twitch despite the concern his pallid appearance caused her. He was fading quickly; a day, perhaps two, but no more, she knew that with a certainty that made a lump in her throat constrict painfully. It made her next words sound more strained than she would have liked._

"_She's as stubborn as they are, you have little to fear, Father," she replied softly, determined to keep her emotions out of her voice._

_She should have known better than to try. The mage's eyes flickered open and he smiled gently at his eldest._

"_Neither have you, dearheart," the weak twinkle dancing in his eye making her grin despite her dislike for the pet name._

"_It's been a while since you've called me that."_

"_It's been a while since you've given me a cause."_

_She let out a low laugh and he joined her, the slight wheeze of his exhaled breath, however, sobered her nearly instantly. He seemed to take in that her face had fallen and he gave her a knowing look._

"_Stop worrying. We all have to stand before the Maker. You shouldn't carry the weight of that. You have enough to occupy your time without being concer -" he fell abruptly silent, his gaze turning thoughtful then perplexed._

_She tilted her head, bewildered._

"_Da?" she asked, the childhood name slipping out in her fear as she leaned forward with an alarmed expression. _

_His body jerked, a grimace of pain flickering across his features. _

"_Dearheart," his hand blindly sought hers before clasping it tightly to him._

"_I'm here, Da."_

_He was desperately fighting for air now, his chest heaving against the back of her hand where it was firmly encased within his dry, calloused fist. The flames in the tiny hearth flickered wildly, casting frightening shadows around the room._

"_Your victory," he gasped, "will not come with the death of your foes."_

_He sucked in a breath, the air rattling dryly as he exhaled and she could feel a prickling at the corners of her eyes. She was scared, but she refused to let him see it, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted a metallic sharpness. His grip was fiercely tight, his eyes dimming even as they met hers, urgently trying to convey something important to her._

"_It will come…when you charge…into the impossible."_

_The words resonated in her ears and she bowed her head, her hair cascading over her shoulders to hide the twin rivulets carved through the dust in her cheeks._

_Though his hand never loosened around her slighter one, she knew he was gone._

* * *

The remembrance hit her with the force of a charging ogre, stealing the air from her lungs. The irony was not lost on her; the impossible had become her specialty and charging into it was a damnably daily occurence. Then again, she thought as her gaze fell on Fenris, some would have said that being with the elf was impossible. Some days she would even agree. On most, however, she was thankful for her father's last words and the impact they had on her life.

Something must have flashed across her face, because when she glanced up, Fenris was eyeing her with a frown. Rolling her shoulders, she rose stiffly and turned to face him. Gingerly, she pulled on her trousers, sucking in a hiss through her teeth when a protesting twinge of pain shot through her abdomen. Hawke bit her lip hard enough to draw blood in an effort to control the trembling of her fingers as she carefully tied the leather strings into a neat knot.

"It would seem that we have some time before sunrise," she murmured with a skyward glance.

"So it would," he agreed.

"If it's all the same to you, then, I'd like to get some practice in. Care to help me set up some targets?"

He gazed at her for a long moment and Hawke strove not to squirm. Finally, he nodded, rising from his hunkered position.

"Practical as always," he purred as he moved towards her and something in his tone had Hawke's heart beating double-time.

She didn't respond as he finally stood in front of her, his green gaze lazily roaming her features. His gauntleted hand came up to cup her cheek, his clawed thumb gently skimming the bruised skin of her lower lip. Though it continued to throb nearly in concordance with the thrumming ache of her torso, she had to admit that his touch was a soothing balm for her abused body. Hawke could see his eyes darkening even in the predawn light at the slight hitch in her breathing.

"It's what I do best," she responded.

He didn't give a witty retort, merely brushed his lips over hers as the sun's rosy tendrils began to light up the eastern sky. The contact was brief, bittersweet, but it conveyed more than any amount of comforting words he could have given her. His long arms enfolded her for a moment and Hawke leaned her head against the hard breastplate that covered his chest.

"I need to forget for a while, Fenris. I just need to be Hawke. No titles, no life and death, no one depending on me to save the whole of Thedas from destruction...just me," her voice was low and her throat felt tight.

He never said a word, taking her by the hand and leading her into the trees.

By the time the sun rose fully, the darker memories had been replaced with the warm Tevinter words he had murmured in her ear.

* * *

Hawke stirred the little pot carefully as the others slowly woke and began to break down the camp. The stew bubbled and she banked the fire a bit, attempting to lower the heat to keep the dish from boiling over. When everything had been stored away for the next leg of their journey and bellies had been filled with the hardy breakfast, Hawke gave the signal to move out. Her body was still sore, but she dismissed the aches, grateful to be moving again.

"Don't strain yourself, Hawke. If you need to rest, then say something. Maker knows, we don't need you to collapse from stubbornness."

Hawke glowered at Anders sourly.

"Yes, Mother."

The look her gave her was worth it. Striding forward to match pace with Sebastian at the front, Hawke began to quietly converse with him. She asked questions about the area, its history, the terrain, any piece of information she could gather. The more informed she was, the more comfortable she felt. Satisfied that she had gleaned all she could, she twisted around and beckoned to Varric to join them. He may not have been born in Orzimmar, but he was a trove of tales about the Deep Roads.

Hawke just prayed to the Maker that it would prove enough, when they left the surface. Once they left the daylight, only Andraste would be able to tell when they would see it again.


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N:** _**I know, I know, it's been forever since I updated and I apologize profusely. My attention was called elsewhere, but, here's the latest chapter, and, hopefully, I'll be updating more frequently from here on out!**

**Of course, reviews and feedback always spur the writer on! :)**

**As always, read and enjoy!**

* * *

Hawke's eyes roved over the horizon, unease settling uncomfortably in her mind. The entrance to the Deep Roads that had been indicated in Galdoy's book had been almost too easy to find. It was a slender crack in the mountainside, the shape of the rock forming a natural arch that, when approached, reeked of decay, earth, and death. Her companions were busily crafting torches, memorizing spells, preparing for the potentially long journey through the darkness of Thedas's forgotten, underground realm.

Her right arm was bent over her shoulder, fingers slowly caressing the smooth wood of her bow. Letting out a breath, she turned and bent down, retrieving a set of slender sticks and some feathers. Tucking her legs beneath her, Hawke settled on the chilled ground, tugging at a thin leather cord with her teeth as she wrapped it deftly around the stiffened feather's base. Satisfied, she began anchoring the sharp, pointed tip to the other end of the shaft when a shadow fell over her.

Glancing up, her gaze met an amber one. Biting her lip to keep back a sigh, She instead flashed him a crooked smile.

"Good afternoon, Anders. What brings you to my little corner of the world?"

He settled beside her as she placed her newly created arrow in her worn leather quiver, his fingers curling around a bare shaft and beginning to assist her in her task.

"I was wondering how your dreams have been lately."

She paused as she held the tip of a feather to a new piece of wood. Then she shrugged; there was no point in deceiving him about the nightmares. He probably understood better than most.

"Almost the same, really. Vivid, terrifying, mood dampening," as she spoke, her hands were a blur of motion, shaping the disconnected materials into her weapon of choice with a scowl.

He glanced over at her and shook his head slowly.

"You're not helping yourself by acting flippant, Hawke."

"Then do tell me how I am supposed to act, Anders," she growled, the marks on her skin glowing faintly in the afternoon sun at her irritation.

He shook his head again, one broad shoulder lifting.

"I don't know, Hawke. I just worry for you, as your friend and as a healer," he gestured to the hole that gaped from the mountainside like a wound, "Going down there is suicidal and you know it. Even if you find what you're looking for-"

A hand on his shoulder stopped him and he looked up, eyes widening in surprise to see Bethany's pretty face frowning down at him.

"That's enough, Anders. My sister does not need anyone telling her the futility of what she's doing. She knows."

Eyes met like mirror images over the mage's head and Bethany continued, her voice soft and sad.

"All the same, she's never led us wrong before. She won't now," her hand lifted to pat his shoulder as she straightened, "Have faith in her, like you used to."

Hawke felt her lips curve into a grateful smile, which turned into a smirk as she noticed Ander's gaze following the swaying curve of her sister's hips.

"She's a wise one, like Mother," Hawke commented with a soft chuckle.

"Yes," Anders replied absently, "she certainly is," he shook his head, his reverie breaking as he turned his attention back to Hawke, "I owe you an apology, Hawke."

She leaned over, nudging his arm with her shoulder, smiling impishly.

"Don't lose any sleep over it, Anders."

He returned her smile tentatively, which made her chuckle.

"You know, you should try smiling more, get used to it again."

He shook his head at her, a grin threatening to curve his lips even further.

"You're incorrigible, you know that?"

She nodded solemnly.

"Fenris makes it a point to tell me at every opportunity."

Anders snorted then, the leather strip he was weaving between his fingers becoming tightly wrapped against the wooden shaft. They worked in silence for a long while, dutifully replenishing not only Hawke's nearly empty quiver, but Sebastian's as well. Slipping the last of her new arrows into her quiver, Hawke gave it a shake, enormously pleased by the sound of quiet rattling.

"I suspect we'll be needing to do this again before we come back to the surface," Hawke observed, her voice subdued.

She may not have liked his terms, but Anders was right. This was a suicide mission. Even under the best of circumstances, there were going to be severe injuries. The thought led to another and she turned her gaze to the mage.

"Have the three of you finished crafting those potions?"

Anders shook his head.

"Not yet. They will take time," it was a question and Hawke nodded to him.

"Take as much as you think is necessary. We can't afford to run out."

The mage stood, brushing away the bits of leather scraps, dust, and grass that had become stuck to his robes. As he strode back towards the campfire, Hawke curled her arms around her knees. The sun was setting and the sky was bathed in a warm, orange glow. She sensed a presence behind her and half-turned with a smile.

"I don't think we'll be ready for another two days yet," she remarked, going over details in her mind as she turned her attention back to the horizon.

"That's a long while to sit and do nothing," came the reply and Hawke shook her head as the elf lowered himself to the ground beside her.

"It'll mean everything, Fenris."

She thought that he was perhaps waiting for some elaboration, but she remained quiet, letting her thoughts run a well-worn track, examining angles that she knew had already been covered. It was a testament to her anxiety that she was second-guessing herself. Perhaps it showed on her features, because a gauntleted hand came up, metal-clad fingers gently combing through the strands of her hair.

"What would you have me do?"

Hawke tilted her head towards him absently, unconsciously seeking his touch.

"Make sure our equipment is repaired. Any dull weapons that we possess, get Sebastian to sharpen them. You and I will prpbably need to go hunting tomorrow. If we salt the meat well enough, it should be dried by the time we begin descending."

He was quiet as she ticked off orders, finally nodding. His fingers were not idle, the back of his knuckles beginning to trace the barely visible pattern of her markings.

"You are more concerned over this journey than I have ever seen you. Did the mage make you ill at ease?"

The question was more like a growl and Hawke bit her lip in order to keep her amusement to herself.

"No, Anders, despite his efforts, has not been able to alter my mind."

They were silent for several heartbeats, the only sounds to be heard was the crackle of the fire and the low murmur of their companions around it.

"It can't be a good sign when even the animals avoid a place," Hawke observed, tilting her head back to look up at the sky before focusing her gaze on the treeline in the distance.

"You are concerned about the statues' powers, if any still exist in the Roads," he stated bluntly and she bowed her head before nodding slowly.

"I do not know how they will affect me, considering the changes in my body from Meredith's cursed sword, but...I know how they will affect all of you," she raised her eyes to look into his green ones, her expression pained, "That would mean a task that I have no desire to do."

He returned her gaze steadily, his fingers slowing in their tracing to cup her chin, bringing her face closer to his.

"You will do what you must, no less, Hawke," he murmured, lifting his other hand to smooth away the stray strands that fluttered across her face, tucking them behind her ear.

"That's cold comfort."

"It's all the words I can offer you."

She knew that. It was what he didn't say, the truth written in his eyes, the way his hands moved across her skin, that spoke the clearest volumes.

* * *

It was gruesome work, she thought with a grimace, but well worth the effort. Hawke was up to her elbows in blood a bits of gore, clumps of fur stuck to the bare flesh of her arms and hands as she carefully sliced away at the layer of fat that had well insulated the deer Fenris had killed. Directly across from her was the Prince of Starkhaven, in exactly the same state. With precision, he carved into the second deer.

Together, they worked diligently, stripping away lengths of meat and placing them nearby for Bethany and Merril to start drying. Wiping the sweat on her forehead on her clean shoulder, Hawke let out a breath, blowing it upwards so that the hair that had fallen into her eyes would at least float in a different direction.

Her sister came to stand beside her for a moment.

"What is it, Bethany?" she asked without looking up.

"I was thinking that perhaps we could save the skins, if possible. The leather may be useful to us at some point in the Deep Roads."

Hawke glanced up with a crooked grin.

"Not a bad idea, Sister. I assume that you have a spell in mind that will tan them since we lack the materials?"

Her sibling nodded with a pleased smile.

"Of course."

The elder Hawke returned her attention to her task, though her grin turned sly.

"Why don't you see if Anders has a free hand? It will probably be easier with two mages at work."

"Hmm, there's a good thought," she heard her sister murmur and could almost see the slender finger that tapped against perfectly sculpted lips.

The sound of footsteps signaled Bethany's retreat and Hawke's brow furrowed as she concentrated, sawing through a tough patch of muscle near the haunch. Cutting away at the sinew, Hawke hummed a nameless tune under her breath, finding the rhythm in the movement of her hand.

Finally, after nearly an hour of steady labor, the remains of the deer carcass could be buried. Rolling her shoulders to alleviate the stiffness from being hunched over for an extended period of time, she stode straight, the vertebrae in her spine cracking in a series of loud pops. She sighed in relief and, waving a hand towards the others, moved to her tent.

As she ducked down to enter, Merril was just finishing magicking a large basin of hot water into existence.

"Oh, Merril, you are my best friend in the world right now," Hawke said appreciatively, causing the young elf to blush.

"Aw, that's a sweet thing to say, Hawke. Can I do anything else for you? I mean like some soap or a bit of linen to wash with?"

"That's alright," came the muffled reply as Hawke pulled her loose shirt over her head, "I have a bar in my pack over there. But, I think Sebastian is going to need a bath too, he's just as filthy as I am. Probably more ripe too, since he wouldn't take his armor off. Maybe he'll let you clean it for him?"

Hawke stripped down as she talked, tossing the clothes into a forgotten corner near the tent's opening. She would discard them when she was finished. When she looked up, Merril was gone and Hawke allowed herself the chuckle. The girl was smitten, there was no other word for it. Approaching the basin, Hawke scooped up her soap and started scrubbing her arms.

She basked in the heat from the water, regretfully acknowledging that this was probably the last luxury she was going to indulge in for a long time. The Deep Roads would offer them little protection, much less opportunities to be clean.

No, it was going to be all the could do to survive down there. The nagging concerns that had plagued her since they had found the entrance resurfaced and she ruthlessly shoved them back down, as roughly as she dunked her head beneath the water. Nails scraped over her scalp, a welcome distraction.

She would take them while she could, she thought grimly. Tomorrow they would be descending.


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N: **_** Hello all! I apologize for making you wait so long, but the lack of reviews for the last chapter kinda took the wind out of my sails. So, please leave me a review, for love, for support, to rant at my long absence...anyway, here I am again and here's the latest chappie! As always, read and enjoy!**

* * *

Hawke lifted her torch high over her head, sweeping it in wide arcs in an attempt to bring some brightening to the engulfing darkness of the tunnel that stretched ahead of them. Softly glowing mushrooms lined the rock walls, but they possessed a corpse light, a sickly light that illuminated nothing. Grumbling under her breath, she stepped forward, her boots softly splashing in the stagnant pools of water that collected beneath dripping stalagmites. To her left, Isabela strode beside her, tanned fingers roving across the hilt of the dagger that was strapped to her hip.

"Hardly a place for lovers," the pirate muttered, her lips twitching as she cut her amber eyes to her friend, who shrugged with a smirk.

"Depends on what they're into, I suppose."

Isabela's bark of laughter was sharp in the cavernous space.

"Blood and darkspawn makes you hot, is that it?"

"You would think so, wouldn't you, after seeing what I do for a living all this time?"

The dusky-skinned woman nodded with a chuckle.

Ever since they had descended, the bright sun slipping behind the edge of cold, damp stone, the whispers in Hawke's mind, the reminder of the idol's presence, had become louder. The first few days, it had been a low murmur, easily ignored, but it was steadily becoming more insistent the further below the surface they went. She had asked Anders about it their first night camped near the base of a ruined column.

"Honestly, Hawke, I'm not certain what to tell you. You knew it was going to get worse, and that's as much information as I have."

Her gaze had been hard.

"Then give me your suspicions."

Sighing, he had relented.

"Fine. I suspect that the idol's power will grow exponentially as we get closer to wherever it is you're leading us. I suspect that you're going to lose control at some point and its going to be a point when it's the most inconvenient. I _highly_ suspect that the only thing that's going to keep the rest if us sane is you. No pressure."

A swatt at his ear had informed him of her opinion of that quip.

Now, with the weight of the earth weighing down over their heads and their path forward lit by the dim firelight of the torch, Hawke silently admitted that she was uncertain. That cold prickling along her skin hadn't let up and dread settled like a ball of ice in the pit of her stomach. She glanced over her shoulder towards her friends, her sister; they had come to depend on her over the years, but could she protect them from themselves? Her gaze shifted to Anders and her eyes softened sadly. She hadn't been able to save _him, _not from the demons that came from within.

She took comfort, however, in how the blackness in his amber eyes had lifted since they had left Kirkwall and since a petite brunette with luminous eyes had overcome some of her shyness. Hawke considered her sister with a small smile. That was going to be an interesting development, if they lived to see daylight again. The thought was sobering and Hawke's mind drifted back down the gloomy avenue that her thoughts had previously taken. This trek into darkness should have been hers alone, but here they all were, ranged behind her as always. It was a show of support, but it only seemed to make the burden heavier.

The depressed bent of her thoughts continued as their steps echoed walls the carved stone walls. Minutes marked by the number of heartbeats between breaths crawled by as the uneven, twisting ground lead them past murky tunnels, sweeping caverns, and tinkling streams. A soft gust of air fluttering the flame of her torch brought Hawke up short once more. They halted just within the entrance of one of those monstrous caverns, the sloped path steep as it stretched on past the limit of her enchanted vision. Fenris scrabbled down the slick rock, loosening his large sword in its harness.

Hawke leaned towards him, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Company?" He asked her softly and she nodded, leaning close to his shoulder.

"Darkspawn would be my guess. Strange that Anders hasn't said anything though..."

She twisted her upper body and beckoned to the healer with slender fingers. When he had approached within earshot, Hawke whispered to him. He shook his head slowly.

"It might be, it might not be. What makes you think there's anything ahead?"

Hawke gave him a glittering stare.

"I don't know of any wind that can travel below the surface unless it is breath, do you?"

He didn't answer land Hawke turned her attention to the tall elf at her elbow.

"Ready everyone. I don't want any surprises."

He simply nodded, silently padding away and Hawke glanced at the Mage on her other side. Cupping his palm, he drew his staff as Hawke thrust the torch down against the damp stone beneath her boots, dousing the flame in a smooth motion.

It proved to be a catalyst all it's own.

Shrieks echoed through the darkness, the sound sharp scratches in her ears, making her hiss in a pained breath through clenched teeth. Her bow would do little good on this kind if battlefield, so she knelt to retrieve her long knife, unsheathing the four end dagger at her lower back. She could feel the idol magic like oil snaking through her veins, demanding that she unleash its horrors on the unsuspecting horde that was rushing to meet them. With effort, Hawke held the impulse in check, trusting her fathers enchantment would allow her the sight she would need.

A blast of cold air rushed past her and Hawke dropped to the ground.

"Get down!" she yelled, hoping they had enough time to heed her warning.

Within a breath, she was up and scrambling down the slope, slamming her dagger into the chest of the wraith that the genlock magehad summoned. Ash burst around her and Hawke spat as she inhaled the noxious plume. Metal rang out against metal behind her and she took off at a dead run, straight into the teeming darkspawn that clawed from the rocks below and skittered down the walls around them. Shrieks loped forwards them in tight packs, scurrying down from the hewn walls. Hawke dropped again, sliding down the rest of the slope, angling her body to avoid the awkward chop of a massive hurlock.

She spotted the mage, sparks of light shimmering around its thick fingers as it channeled magic that Hawke could almost taste. It was thick, ropy, a greasy quality that reminded her strongly of the magical taint that coursed through her own blood.

"Shit," she cursed, using her momentum to burst to her feet, adrenaline pumping.

Moving swiftly, she swung, burying her long knife to the hilt through the unfortunate spawn's belly before driving it up and out with a jerk. The creature let out a pitiful gurgle, blood foaming around its jagged lips as it sank to the stone floor.

"Bethany!" she called out for her sister, spinning to seek out the younger woman.

Bethany had her back to Merril, the two spell casters tossing fireballs, lightning, anything they could summon to hurl into the waves of darkspawn still pouring out of every crevice. Spinning her knives with rapid snaps of her wrists, Hawke dug the points into all black flesh within reach, fighting her way to her sister's side.

"Bethany," she was breathing heavily, the exertion of holding the idol's control and fighting Darkspawn taking a toll on her body, "They're using idol magic. You can feel it's pull on them! Listen!"

Hawke shoved her boot into a Hurlock's chest, driving her blade deep into its eye socket as it screamed. She heard Bethany's sharp intake of breath, followed by an Elvish curse from Merril.

"Sweet Maker, she's right. But how-"

"Doesn't matter," Hawke interrupted, ducking a bolt of ice, "We have to drive the back long enough to find an exit. We can't fight like this forever."

The words had hardly left her mouth before she heard a familiar roar coming from the back of the cavern.

"Blasted bollocks," she swore under her breath, whirling on her heel to call out in warning, "Ogre!"

A blue glow shot past her and she took off after him, right on Fenris's heels. Out of the corner off her eye, she could see Anders draw up along side her. She looked at him long enough to see him nod. Her mouth set in a grim line as they rushed through the darkspawn's line. A group of Hurlock's shored up the gap in their defense, forcing the small group to pause long enough to slaughter the lot of them.

"We can't let the damned thing get through!" Hawke shouted to be heard over the din.

"I know, Hawke, I know," the elf snapped at her.

She grasped his shoulder to get his attention, her eyes determined.

"Do you remember the last time we were in the Deep Roads?" She asked, knowing the question was going to piss him off, but she didn't see another option; she sure as hell didn't know a better way to deal with an ogre.

Jade irises flashed at her despite the darkness, but she shook her head, ignoring the murderous expression on her lover's face long enough to look at Anders. He just jerked his head. Taking a deep breath, she dodged a Shriek's slash at her abdomen, returning the favor with a grunt. The ground beneath them was starting to tremble, signaling that they had caught the monster's attention.

"Move!" She commanded harshly and they obeyed.

Dimly, she could hear the others' cries as they fought to push the darkspawn back, but she couldn't spare the time to check to make sure they were still alive. Fenris charged, his sword biting into the lumbering beast's leg, the muscle of its calf as big around as a great oak trunk. He wretched it free, Anders skidding to a stop to swipe his hands in a large swath. A sheet of ice flew from his hands, solidifying around the creature's feet. The ogre broke it instantly, frosted crystals shattering, but it was the distraction they needed.

Hawke sprinted forward, blood roaring in her ears. With a snarl, Fenris knelt, his sword arm thrust out. Anders' hands glowed in the darkness, a bloody red that lit the cavern in a grisly hue. The ogre howled as it shifted its attention to the mage, lifting its bulky arm, fist closing. By the time Hawke reached Fenris, Anders had launched the fireball, just as the toes of her boots pressed down on the spiky armor. Hawke sprung into the air, daggers forward. She slammed into the ogre hard, her daggers crossing with a screech of metal through the beast's neck, the head nearly decapitated, just as the flames engulfed it. Letting go of the hilts, Hwke dug her boots into the monster's belly, pushing off to backflip nearly away as it crumpled in a heap.

"Damn," she muttered, climbing the fallen spawn to retrieve her blades, "I'm getting too old for this."

"I hope not," Anders called up to her, pointing back towards their still struggling friends, "because I think more are coming."

"Thrice-blasted pieces of dragon shit," she replied with a sneer.

Her muscles ached, but at least the whispers had died down. She would take exhaustion over the feckin' idol's magic any day. Grunting, she hopped lightly off the mountainous corpse.

A wave of dizziness crashed into her as soon as her feet touched stone and she stumbled. Fenris caught her, his arm bracing against her chest. She heard his voice as if through water, far away and faint. Hawke shook her head roughly to clear it, but the feeling remained. It was as if everything had slowed, her head dragging up to look into the elf's worried face.

A bright distracted her and she glanced down at the hands tightly wrapped around the hilts of her daggers. Viridian lines were swirling up her arms, and she suddenly understood why the idol had gone silent.

"Oh, no."


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N: **_**Here's the latest chappie, gang, I hope you all read and enjoy! The entire time I was writing this chapter, I was listening to Blood Sugar by Pendalum. I highly recommend listening to it while you read, it's awesome!**

**On that note, I'd also like to give a shout out to all my loyal readers, favoriters, and followers, I'm writing this for amazing peoples like you! **

**Please leave a review, it makes me day! :D**

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Hawke pushed away from Fenris, watching the light creep up her body warily. As it traveled, she could sense a foreign sentience growing within her...something awakening. It's low growl reverberated in her mind, rippling out and making her shudder.

It wanted out.

She could feel her blood racing through every vein, a heightened awareness that was almost painful as she was assaulted with scents, noises, sensations...

Too much!

With a grimace, she straightened from where she'd sagged against Fenris's shoulder. Tentatively, she stretched out her mind, brushing mental fingers against the presence that hovered on the edges of her conscious. It pushed back, gently, which surprised her. It wasn't fighting to take over, clawing out of the dark recesses to forcefully deal with a threat to its plan. No...this felt like ...an alliance? It was like an entirely different being, and that thought alone made her cold. Suspicion was her first instinct and she silently snarled, wary of what the idol had in mind, but she couldn't deny that every little bit of power she could dredge up was going to help. She couldn't trust it, and her grip on the daggers in her hand tightened. It was too dangerous.

The boom of a second pair of ogre feet made the decision for her.

Hawke turned to look at Fenris, her gaze hard.

"Get the others. Move back as close to the edges of the cavern as you can."

He returned her stare evenly, though she could see a flash of a deeper emotion skitter across the jade irises.

"We'll be hemmed in," he warned, watching her as her lips tightened.

"It won't last that long," she murmured, already walking away.

It was like following the tug of a string, her steps hollow on the cold stone as she maneuvered through the surging, seething mass of Darkspawn. Lifting her hand as she approached with a calm, paced stride, she whispered a soft word and her hand shimmered. Bracing her boots, she waited for the inevitable charge of genlocks. They crowded towards her with dripping jaws and wild, rolling eyes.

One beat...two beats...

Her hand slammed into the earth as the first one lifted its crooked blade, a tremor pulsing through the rock to knock all but the most sure footed creatures to the ground. Rising and shifting her leg back, she twisted her body, heat flaring low in her belly to climb upwards, down her arms and into her cupped palms. Perhaps Bethany experienced the same, she mused in a small corner of her mind, as she thrust her arms out with a feral twist of her lips. A massive jet of flame shot out, engulfing those unfortunate enough to be too slow to escape its path.

Dimly, she could hear her friends yelling from across the cavern, but she was too far away to hear them. It didn't matter. What mattered was this feeling of power that was roiling through her body like a storm, cooling balm and thundering heat. It swelled until she thought it would simply burst from her chest as she tensed, then sprung forward. Bending at the waist, her fingers trailed against damp stone, bolts of electricity flickering out before crackling like sparking whips against dirty, tainted flesh. The scent of roasted meat hung in the air as she ran, skidding to a stop and spinning in her heel.

Her arms jerked back, palms out, fingers splayed. Then she turned her torso with a vicious twist, the light glowing along her skin becoming almost blinding. Magic churned in her limbs like the sea, filling her with twin sensations of exhilaration and nausea. A barking laughter escaped her lips, equal parts madness and joy as the earth trembled under her feet, spikes of rock and soil erupting to skewer any Darkspawn that had been foolish enough to remain in her proximity. Her lips curved in a sneer as the earth shook again, this time from something far larger than herself.

Hawke turned, eyes that held slithering lines of viridian meeting the black emptiness of the greatest of the BroodMother's offspring. The ogre was smaller than the last one, but still massive. Purple skin flexed over muscles that threatened to tear through and it let out a howl, its head tipping back so that even the surface far above them could know its fury. The idol's magic strummed like struck chords, stirring the dust at her feet.

Digging in the heel of her boot, she sprinted forward, one arm cocked back as her hand closed into a fist. Her throat felt raw as she charged and Hawke realized that she was screaming. The beast was almost on top of her, it's arms swinging as it lumbered towards her, its roar drowning out the pitch of her voice. Its arm seemed to move in slow motion, the giant hand reaching for her, but she slid beneath its grasp, the stench almost making her gag. Clenching her teeth, ran right at it, stopping just short of crashing into the ogre's stomach, though her fist kept going. Agumented with a force that was not her own, her fist slammed into it, pushing past skin and sinew, into the soft, hot organs beneath. She hopped back as black blood spurted, a jagged hole in the wake of her punch.

It fell to its knees, its screech making her very bones rattle. Swiftly, she shrugged her shoulder and unsheathed her bow, nocking an arrow in the space of a heartbeat. Beathing out a command, frost cracked along the wooden shaft, then encased the tip. She fired. It found its mark, piercing the beast's throat and cutting short its agonized scream as ice spread over its face. A snatched gesture, two fingers striking the air in an upwards motion before stabbing forward. The ice exploded, and the creature's head with it.

Lowering her arm, Hawke gripped her bow and closed her eyes. It was intoxicating...the pure strength of the magic flowing through her. Despite its resemblance to thick, slippery oil, she felt truly tempted for the first time. What could she accomplish with this kind of power? But it was like a song she could barely hear, just out of her reach. Or was it?

"Hawke."

The sound of her name made her eyes snap open, the required words for a spell already on the tip of her tongue as she whirled around.

It was his eyes that stopped her.

They were wide, wider than she had ever seen them. The look he gave her, like a summoning as he stood several feet away. He didn't reach for her, his expression was the same brooding stare, but the look in his eyes...

"Hawke," he said again, his low voice reaching her ears like a soft caress.

The swirls spinning across her skin began to fade, her eyes returning to their normal clear color. She exhaled a shuddering breath, weakness flooding her body as the idol's seductive call vanished, and her back straightened, startled, as she realized that she'd breathed out on a lyrical note.

She'd been singing.

The shudder that chased down her spine was violent, making her stumble when she tried to walk towards the white-haired elf. Then his arms were around her waist, holding her up, and Hawke buried her face in the crook where his neck met his shoulder.

"You're no songbird."

"Bastard," she muttered and his chuckle was a warm puff against her hair, his hands tracing the curve of her back before he tightened his hold on her.

"Now I know you're you."

She pulled back tiredly, blinking as the others gathered around them. With a heavy sigh, she let Fenris loop her arm around his shoulder. Hawke let her gaze fall on each of them, checking over swiftly for any sign of injury. A few cuts, bruises, nothing too serious.

"The question is, how am I going to write about that stunt?" Varic asked, scratching at the stubble on his chin.

Isabela tilted her head at him, one hand elegantly braced against a hip.

"You could always sprinkle in another ogre or two, make her taller, that sort of thing."

"But Hawke's already so much taller than me already!" Merril protested, one hand touching her cheek in dismay.

To everyone's surprise, it was Sebastian who reassured her, his arm linking around her waist.

"Not everyone likes giants, love."

Hawke's browed arched as she exchanged a knowing look with her sibling. Feeling a gentle touch on her arm, she glanced in the other direction to see Anders watching her carefully.

"You need rest."

She grinned crookedly at him.

"No kidding? Well then, I suggest we find a convenient rock to crawl under for a while."

"How do you manage to remain this flippant when you're about to collapse?" he asked her as he and Bethany cupped their hands, balls of light illuminating their path as they started forward once again.

Hawke shrugged wearily.

"Have to be consistent. Changing my personality would be too much of a shock for Varic. He'd keel over and then Isabela would have to kiss him," she shook her head sadly, "It'd just be too much trouble."

"Aren't you so clever?" the dwarf snipped, reaching over his shoulder to stroke Bianca with narrowed eyes.

"I learned from the best."


	23. Chapter 23

_**A/N: **_**Yay, an update! I'm sorry it's been so long gang, but my attention has been pulled in a thousand different directions lately. This isn't the best chapter I've written for this fic, but I'm struggling to bring all the pieces together. More than likely, this story may never end. I'll just keeping posting as the inspiration hits me, forever and ever. A good and bad thing, no? **

**Anyhoo, please read, review and enjoy! : )**

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Hawke hobbled along beside Fenris, his clawed gauntlets tightly curled around her lower back as he matched her pace. She glanced up at him apologetically, but he didn't seem to notice. Her head was tilted a little, listening intently past the sounds of their echoing footsteps for any indication of pursuit.

Nothing reached her ears.

The walls around them had begun to dampen, water dripping in steady streams down the craggy stones, plunking noisily to gather into stagnant pools beneath their feet. The light cast from the mages' cupped palms flickered over rock and moss, creating eerily fluttering shadows.

The toe of her boot bumped into a patch of uneven stone, making her stumble. A strong arm caught her around her waist, swiftly stepping in front of her so that she only collided with rough leather as her hands gripped lean biceps. Hawke tipped her head back, looking up at the elf with a frustrated scowl. Half of his face was obscured in shadow as the others slowly filed past. An unspoken question passed between them and she shook her head stubbornly.

"I'm fine, let's keep moving. The further we get from that cavern, the better."

His brows furrowed, eyeing her suspiciously, but she held his gaze, silently daring him to argue as well as daring her body to contradict her. As if to emphasize the size of the lie she was telling herself, pain shot through her like an electric shock, causing her to hiss in a breath with a wince. Leaning her head against his chest because she just didn't have the strength anymore to keep looking up at him, she let out a ragged breath. She really needed to sleep. Unfortunately, the needs of the body were not always in perfect alignment. Her, and her friends, survival depended on moving.

Fenris remained silent, his arms wrapping around her. After several heartbeats, he gently pushed her back before bending at the waist, swiping his long arm around her knees and scooping her up into his arms.

"You've got to be joking!" she squawked indignantly, limbs flailing as he quickly rejoined their companions at the rear.

"Hardly," came the dry reply, his grip tightening on her legs and back almost painfully, warning her to be still without speaking further.

Hawke was too tired and sore to really complain much more, anyway. Sighing, she let her head fall against his shoulder, body going limp and breathing in the scent of leather and sweat. With nothing better to do, she let her thoughts wander.

They stood a better chance in narrow tunnels like this, where the likelihood of surprise and ambush became slim and their positions easily defendable. With the number of archers and mages in their little band, there current position was even more favorable. And yet, she repeated to herself, they had to keep moving. An even larger problem was that she no longer had a clear idea where they needed to be moving towards. Galdoy's book had very little to offer in terms of geography or destination and his notes even less. Not even Haldria's records could give a specific direction or heading. They were quite literally walking blind. Worse still, their supplies wouldn't last forever, despite their careful preparations. Hawke wondered if it were better to turn back now, to escape this never-ending network of sunless rock and damp.

Glancing up at the stoic features of her lover, she knew that wouldn't be an option. He had let her go once; he wouldn't allow her to leave him a second time. Because that is exactly what she would have to do. The idol's magic would eventually consume her. Perhaps it would not happen in a year, or even numerous years, if her will could hold out, but it _would _happen. Anders, and her own research, had been firm in that assessment. She closed her eyes again, burrowing her face into the crook of Fenris's neck and willing the troublesome thoughts, and aches, to leave her be for a little while.

They marched for several hours, the tunnel snaking far ahead of them, until it abruptly widened, revealing a decently sized cavern, with other tunnels winding away into the pitch black. Hawke blinked, lifting her head to stare, whispering a charm under her breath and straining to pierce the inky blackness. It didn't help much. There was nothing to see.

That didn't make her feel any better.

She felt a warm puff of breath at her cheek and slightly turned her head, her gaze meeting jade eyes.

"What is it?" he asked in a low rumble that she could feel in his chest against her side.

"Nothing," she replied in a quiet dismissal, tapping her booted heel against his hip where it hung limply.

Thankfully, he acknowledged her signal and let her down. Refusing to allow a blush to stain her cheeks at the knowing glances exchanged among their friends, Hawke limped forward a little, gesturing for her sister to follow. Bethany complied, falling into step beside her, albeit as she chewed on the inside of her cheek in worry. Hawke gave her a small, reassuring smile as they took a few leading steps into the cavern, their eyes methodically scanning over the other tunnels.

The elder Hawke jerked her head towards the far end of the alcove.

"Take Sebastian and scout a little ways into those tunnels. Tell me what you find when you're done. If nothing looks suspicious, we'll stop here for a bit."

Bethany nodded quickly, beckoning to the prince as Hawke shuffled to lean against a wall, grimacing as pain seemed to shot through every limb.

That last fight had taken a bigger toll on her than she would have cared to admit. As she drew a pained breath, struggling to keep her swimming vision in focus, she cursed that the physical weakness would overcome her now. It hardly made any sense. Fenris had _carried_ her the last few hours, so why—

"You're body's rebelling, I think," Anders answered her internal question, drawing close to her and lifting a hand to her forehead.

She almost shied away from the touch, but she realized that he was only checking her for fever. It was a likely possibility. Her body was trembling, chills sweeping across her skin just before heat would follow. Hawke felt dizzy and nauseous, the meat she'd made herself eat for breakfast roiling in her belly.

The mage dropped the other hand that had been holding the little light and it hung suspended where he left it. He looked into her eyes carefully, his expression grave. Fenris appeared beside the healer as he moved his hands over her body, asking her if he pressed here, did it hurt, or there, was that painful and…

"Well, mage?" Fenris bit out in a low growl, his arms folding over his leanly muscled chest.

Anders returned the elf's displeased scowl with an cool look.

"She can't go much further."

If anything, the reply only made Fenris's expression darker.

"Why don't you tell me something that isn't useless for a change?"

Hawke reached out a touched her fingertips to his arm.

"Useless or not, it doesn't matter. We're only stopping here for an hour."

Both men whipped their heads to her, their mirrored actions nearly enough to make her grin in amusement. Maker, if she actually said anything about that, their combined sneers would probably kill her before the magic could. How pissed off would the idol be then?

Perhaps she should stretch that time out to an hour and a half. Her thoughts were getting silly.

"Hawke," Anders said her name in a warning tone, his voice more forceful than usual. "You need more time than that."

Fighting with her traitorous body, Hawke pushed off the wall and stood straight, hiding her trembling hands behind her back. Her eyes narrowed.

"We don't have that kind of time if those darkspawn found reinforcements. I wouldn't doubt that they could sniff us out. We have to put as much distance between them and us as we can."

The two males shared a glance, an apparently silent conversation passing between them. Fenris let out a breath, pinning her with a hard stare.

"Fine, but then someone is going to be carrying you until you decide to make camp."

Anders nodded in agreement, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips as Hawke snorted at them. Her hand moved from behind her back to rest on the curve of her bow while the other gripped the hilt of the dagger she kept sheathed at her lower back. The swirling pattern that now ghosted over her skin glowed softly.

"I _dare_ you," she hissed, baring her teeth at the tall elf.

Without missing a beat, he once again bent at the waist, but this time he grabbed her around her hips and tossed her over his shoulder.

"Alright then," he told her easily, turning on his heel and marching towards the others, stopping in front of them with a mildly amused smirk as his lover squirmed in his grasp. "Keep thrashing around like a wildcat and I'll drop you, Hawke."

The threat gave her pause. He would, wouldn't he?

Sighing, she tapped against his back in resignation, the color decorating her skin fading and he let her down. More gently than he had indicated he would too, steadying her as the blood rushed back downwards from her head.

"Scrawny bastard," she muttered under her breath, scrubbing a hand over her eyes.

Bethany and Sebastian returned then, emerging from the furthest tunnel side by side. Bethany's luminous eyes were thoughtful, their look making her sibling tilt her head questioningly.

"Anything?" Hawke asked when they drew closer, her arms folding over her leather cuirass.

Sebastian shook his head slowly, cerulean eyes holding a similar expression as the younger mage.

"No, but I don't like the feel of that last tunnel. I could have sworn I heard something while we were poking around down there."

Hawke felt all the color drain from her features. She swayed on her feet and Fenris automatically reached out an arm to support her. As much as she enjoyed him touching her, she was getting rather tired of needing him like this, she thought with a grimace. Stuffing the needless thoughts towards the back of her mind, Hawke cast her eyes over her friends wearily.

"You probably did."

Sebastian looked at her hesitantly before his gaze slid to Fenris. She caught several of the others exchanging similar glances and Hawke growled low in her throat, irritated that, of all times, now her sanity was being questioned. Honestly, after over a decade of rash, stupid, and irrational decisions? Now they decide that they need to double check her lucidity?

Then she sighed, silently admitting to herself that she couldn't really blame them. She'd told them many things about the idol's magic. A few of them had witnessed what it had done to Bartrand and to herself. Hawke looked around her with a crooked grin.

"I know it's a lot to swallow and I know it sounds like I've lost my mind, but I'm asking that you trust me, for a little while longer. I'm not so exhausted or lyrium addled that I see pink dragons and hear bawdy poetry, alright?"

They laughed and she grinned at them, hoping to mask some of the tiredness that had begun to seep into her bones. Was she getting old? Doubtful. More likely, the idol's magic had a firmer hold on her than she would like to admit. Her moods were telling as well, shifting faster than she could keep up. Hawke would never admit it, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to take many more episodes like this.

As Fenris helped her sit in a corner of the cavern, crouching down beside her with worried eyes, she prayed that she wouldn't have to.


End file.
